


Schrödinger's Spy

by Laroyena



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/F, F/M, Growing Up, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-06-07 13:08:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 119,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6806008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laroyena/pseuds/Laroyena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco Bodt was obviously some kind of spy, which meant Jean should probably stay away from him. But it's just so easy to pretend he's actually Jean's friend and not some enemy looking to use his dad's shady history against him-- especially after Jean presents as an omega, and his world is thrown into chaos.</p><p>Or: an A/B/O featuring Jean growing up with the rest of the 104th training corps, struggling to not be a jackass (and failing, most of the time) in the same Titan-ravaged world we all love to hate.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Updates Every Other Saturday.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a really long self-indulgent fic I started writing after my soul was crushed under the weight of a shitty, minimum-wage job (which I thankfully do not work for anymore). Over half of the fic is already finished and will be posted in parts every Saturday. 
> 
> Classic A/B/O warnings ahead-- discussions of mpreg, some dub-con, explicit sex with other people etc. Otherwise, the setting is within the "normal" AoT universe with a similar timeline. Upped Jean and co's age to 15 when enlisting because writing 13-year-olds getting it on isn't to my taste. Apologies in advance for sayings/terms that should not exist in the AoT universe! Similarly, this isn't beta'd, and so all mistakes are on me.
> 
> Random terminology: Male/Female is referred to as a person's gender. Alpha/Omega/Beta is referred to as a person's dynamic. There is an equal distribution of all gender/dynamics in the population.
> 
>  **Prologue Notes** : The prologue goes over some basic pre-military background for both boys and involves a lot of OCs; maybe it's morbid, but I like how AoT has so many characters that are introduced and killed off. Makes the world seem more real? But don't worry-- the next chapter (chapter one) takes place in the first year of training and has a lot of the characters we all know and love. Nothing explicit yet!

0.

 

August Linden was ten years old and the coolest boy Marco had ever known. He had shaggy blond hair tied back in a loose ponytail, skin worn brown by days dancing around in the sun, and a constant mischievous grin that Marco envied. He lived next door and was the only older boy to bother with him; Marco had lots of friends, but August was special. 

He wrapped the sheep skin tight around wooden poles, fingers deft and quick and assured. Once the glider was finished, he offered a hand to the five-year old boy gaping at him and grinned.

“You gonna come jump with us or keep standing there looking like a doof?”

Marco closed his mouth. “I’m not a doof.”

“Then come on,” August grabbed his hand, palm warm against Marco’s littler one. “The wind’s picking up soon!”

The hills of Jinae were a wondrous sight: grass just long enough to feel nice against bare skin but short enough that running was no trouble. Green and lively and going on for—for a long while. Marco wasn’t sure exactly how long it was, but he knew it was a lot.

“Ah c’mon, August,” one of the other boys—Merten?—groaned. “You brought the baby with you?”

“Marco’s not a baby,” August shot back. He wrestled the glider down to the ground and glared at the other boys. “Besides, he’s light enough that this glider can carry us both.”

 “Your fault if he breaks a bone,” Merten grumbled back. He beckoned at Marco, who walked over obediently. “If you fall, try not to land on your neck or back, alright? Don’t want your parents coming after us for that.”

 “I won’t,” Marco promised. For all the older boy’s talk of babies, they never treated Marco particularly bad. The younger boy was good at acting the right way; he never complained and he never did anything that might get on their nerves. He made sure of it. “Can I really glide with you guys today?”

 “How ‘bout right now?” August whooped behind him, and before Marco could react, larger hands were grabbing his waist and lifting him in the air. He let out a surprised yell as August kept sprinting forward without stopping, Marco in his grip and glider strapped to his back and then—

 They were in the air.

 Marco’s stomach jumped into his throat as they soared over rolling hills, sheep gathered in the distance and the village of Jinae bustling down below. It was terrifying. It was amazing. A grin broke out on his face and he joined August’s laughter, whooping and spreading his arm and feeling, in all, like a magnificent bird.

 “Knew you’d like the air, kiddo,” August grinned as they descended. They’d reached past the last hill and were looking to crash into the flower beds that surrounded Jinae. Hyacinths, so thick they were sometimes used as walls to divide the village. “Let’s just hope we don’t get stung by bees.”

 And then they landed with a great crash, strong flowery scent surrounding Marco’s sense of smell until he couldn’t tell which way was up and which was down. Flowers, everywhere. A tang of metal too, beneath the hyacinth smell, but Marco was used to it by now. That’s just what Jinae smelled like, even if he didn’t like it all that much.

 “Let’s go again!” Marco said while August gathered up the glider in his arms.

 August smiled but suddenly froze, posture going from relaxed to rigid in an instant.

 “Get down,” he said, ducking to the ground himself. Marco followed and turned around, catching a glimpse of two men climbing into a wagon.

 The wagon came every week, as did one of the men: Sebastian Greigrich, dressed as he always was in a green jacket, black pants, and dark-colored boots. The only alpha Marco had ever met, and one he’d been actively encouraged to avoid.

 The other man Marco didn’t recognize.

 “Why don’t you want them seeing you?” Marco whispered, and August made a face.

 “We’re not supposed to touch the flowers.”

 “But we always touch the flowers.”

 “Yeah, but not when they’re looking!” August jerked his head towards the wagon, which was now being led away by horses up the street. They were leaving Jinae. “Greigrich told some kid off last week for stepping on the hyacinths and her parents got fined. And don’t get me started on Kirstein.”

 “Kirstein?”

 “The other man,” August said. “He doesn’t come often, but stay out of his way.”

 Marco didn’t really understand, but he knew better than to push it. All he knew was that August didn’t relax until the wagon was completely gone from view, and even then waited another five minutes before nodding at Marco. They could leave.

 Relieved, Marco stood up without paying attention to the flowers around him and let out a cry when hot, stinging pain coursed up his hand.

 “What did I say about bees?” August groaned as he watched Marco clutch his hand to his chest. He tossed the glider haphazardly into the flowers and offered his back for the younger boy to climb onto.

 “You can’t leave your glider here,” Marco said, trying very hard not to cry. He was old enough to play with the big boys, he was old enough not to cry. “I can walk.”

 “No you can’t, you big baby,” August laughed. “I can make a new glider anyway. C’mon, let’s get you home.”

 “Thanks,” Marco said politely and wrapped his arms around the older boy’s shoulders. He piggybacked Marco all the way home, which was a feat, and didn’t even look that tired in the end.

 August was the coolest person Marco had ever met.

 Which was why, when Marco heard his parents talking about the Linden family moving away, Marco couldn’t believe it.

 “You can’t leave Jinae,” he burst out when he caught up to the older boy. The blond was dismantling the decorations in front of their house, and when Marco peeked inside their open front door he could see wooden crates stacked about. It certainly _looked_ like they were leaving. “No one leaves Jinae.”

 “My parents worked something out with the officials,” August said. “We’re heading closer to Wall Sina.”

 “Oh.” Marco said in a quiet voice. “Do you… want to go?”

 August looked a bit… sad? But not crushed. “I’ll miss you guys, really. But it’s better for… for me if I go.”

 "Why?” Marco couldn’t think of a single reason August would have to leave. He had loads of friends here. He did well in school. And he’d be leaving Merten too, who was his best friend.

 “You’ll understand when you’re older,” August replied, and Marco frowned up at him. That was, like, the most used grown-up excuse ever to be used ever.

 “I’m not a baby.”

 “No,” August said. “But this is grown-up stuff. Just. I’ll see you around, okay?”

 “I told you,” Marco scuffed the dirt with his feet. “No one leaves Jinae.”

 The older boy smiled sadly down at him. “A few do. People like me. Those who get buddy-buddy with Greigrich. And the soldiers.”

 Marco’s eyes lit up. “Serving the king!”

 “That’s right,” August said. “They sometimes let the most dedicated ones out. The most loyal ones. And you’re loyal, aren’t you? Marco.”

 The younger boy blinked up at August.

 “Loyal enough to leave Jinae?”

 Marco furrowed his brow, “ _You’re_ leaving Jinae.”

 “That’s me. I’m talking about you. It’s a whole new world out there, little guy. Really different. It’s not going to be as… easy as it is here. In some weird way, we’re kind of protected here. It’s one of the perks. But the moment you step out, there’s going to be a lot of thing you won’t understand.”

 “Titans?”

 “I was thinking people,” August admitted. “But I guess titans count too. Kind of extreme though, isn’t it?”

 “Things can be better out there.”

 “Things can be worse,” August countered.

 Marco considered this. He was little, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew there were bad things out there. Poverty. War. Starvation. Jinae was a little safe haven; everyone he knew lived comfortably, with no worry about any of those things. Far enough within Wall Rose to not care about titans either.

 Life was simple.

 But August was leaving, which was proof right there that life existed outside of this little bubble. An entirely new world waited for him out there, and Marco wasn’t a particularly cowardly boy.

 “I’ll take the chance,” he decided. “I want to see the world for myself.”

 August ruffled his hair. “Then I’ll see you in a few, won’t I? Mr. Soldier to Be.”

 And Marco smiled.

 

\--

 

Wall Maria fell when Jean was only thirteen years old.

 “They’re not staying, are they?” Jean said while pressing his face to the window. Refugees marched, shell-shocked and pale, through Trost in droves led by Garrison soldiers. Some lay in carts with their—their limbs bitten off, bleeding red into bandages and suddenly the curtains snapped shut. “Hey!”

 “I don’t want you seeing this,” his mother scowled.

 “I’m _thirteen_ ,” Jean couldn’t help but whine, “I’m not a _baby_. Are the titans going to attack us too?”

 He wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted out of the question. On one hand, he was a thirteen-year-old boy with a healthy fascination in the scary gross creepy. On the other hand, titans were a lot less terrifying hidden behind two walls and a hundred years of dull monotony.

 “What are you talking about, Jean? Wall Rose will hold,” his mother said, convincingly resolute if not for the telltale wringing of her apron. “Now go wash your hands, I need you to help cut some vegetables.”

 “Don’t want to,” Jean said, sliding down in his chair and crossing his arms in a moody, teenage sulk.

 “Well the stew’s not going to cook itself and I need to start preparing the meat. Your father’s coming home for dinner.”

 Jean flinched in surprise. His father never came home for dinner.

 He slipped off the chair and went.

 To be honest, hearing about some huge-ass titan breaking a hole into Wall Maria sounded like something out of a bad horror story. It didn’t even sound believable, much less real. It didn’t _feel_ real, even with the chaos around him.

 Refugees out the window. Worry clutching his mother within. She spent the entire day making pies and cakes and stews and acting like such a stereotypical omega, and Jean would’ve left her to it if she hadn’t insisted he help her. Probably to avoid thinking about how devastating an impact this was going to be on them.

 He should probably savor the meat stew tonight. A food shortage seemed imminent in this brave new world, and Jean had never gone hungry before in his life.

 Because his brain wouldn’t allow him to forget, his father was coming home.

 Of course it’d take something disastrous like _a wall being breached_ to warrant a visit home. _Of course_.

 His mind couldn’t process so many panicking thoughts at once, so Jean forced himself to focus on wiping his hands on a clean cloth. He glanced up into his own worn eyes in the mirror and wrinkled his nose; his cheeks were too pale, the press of his lips too purposeful. He looked scared, which both surprised and annoyed him.

 He was thirteen. A teenager, just old enough to seriously consider his future dynamic. Only _babies_ got scared.

 After wetting the cloth and wiping his face furiously, Jean placed it back on the rack and slipped out of the bathroom.

 Muffled voices floated past the front door. Curious, Jean glanced around before sidling up the window in the entrance hall and peering outside. His heartbeat rocketed when he saw the bulky silhouette of his father speaking to a man in a green jacket just past their small, fenced-off frontage facing the street. It was unlike his father to be so near a crowd of rundown people, but the man with the green jacket seemed important enough—and possibly a higher ranking enough alpha—for him to break habit.

 If Jean pressed close enough to the glass, he could hear what they were saying.

 “We’re looking to have the shipments arrive by this afternoon. Two carts at most—enough to carry the crates but not enough to draw suspicion.”

 His father’s face was mostly obscured, but Jean could see enough to know the exact look of bland passivity he wore. “Easily done. I admit, I was surprised to receive your message so… late. You know I prefer to have time to prepare.”

 “Wall Maria fell today,” the man in the green jacket said. “None of us had time to prepare.”

 Jean’s father mulled over this, passivity melting into an unhappiness Jean was acutely familiar with. “Alright. I had to bring the shipments from the storehouse into the backyard; I can hand them over right now. Though I have to say: in the twenty years I’ve been in this business, I’ve made it a point of not bringing this shit home.”

 The man in the green coat cocked his head with sudden understanding. “Ah yes. You’ve got a boy, haven’t you? Unpresented?”

 “Don’t misunderstand,” his father replied while leading them away, towards the alleyway leading to the backyard. “I wouldn’t mind it so much, but Celine would never forgive me.”

 “Hell hath no fury like an omega’s rage,” the other man commented before they rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.

 Jean peered after the empty frontage for a moment longer, both curious and uneasy about the conversation he’d overheard. Rushing home after spending months off handling negotiations and overseeing shipments and whatever else kingdom-traveled merchants did just because a Wall collapsed and his family needed support?

 No.

 Jean knew his dad was here on business. That was obvious. What business he couldn’t say, because his dad had always been unwilling to teach him an iota of merchanting despite being his only son.

 “This isn’t your kind of job,” he told Jean bluntly the one time he’d dared to venture close to one of the carts and press a hand to smoothed wood. It was filled to the top with thickly padded crates, and that was all Jean saw before his father dropped the canvas back down and tied it securely shut. He handed Jean a packet before he could open his mouth and confirm that yes, his father was talking about him ‘not being an alpha’. “Now go give this to your mother. Now.”

  _How do you know I won’t present as an alpha_ , Jean had wanted to say, because the one thing about unpresented limbo was that everything was possible. He could be _anything._

 Clearly, though, he couldn’t be good enough.

 Jean slipped away from the window before enough time passed for his mother to become suspicious. Thankfully, stress cooking had taken so much of her attention that she didn’t even notice Jean letting off a bit of steam by chopping the carrots with the ferocity of a tween wronged. Just hummed to herself and bustled about before taking his finished work and dumping it into the stew.

 Jean sulked his way back to his chair and waited like a criminal at the gallows.

 His father appeared ten minutes late to dinner, unapologetic as usual and looking completely unruffled if not for the slight smudge on his shirt collar.

 It looked like he’d been spattered with oil—oil that, when Jean made the mistake of leaning too close to him and receiving an offended glare in return, smelled kind of like hyacinth. Perfume?

 No. There was a strange metallic undertone to the smell, almost like the hyacinth was trying to mask it and not quite succeeding.

 Whatever it was, Jean immediately recoiled like he’d been slapped.

 This caught his parents’ attention, which Jean didn’t want at all. Really.

 “Finish your stew,” his father said after a long, awkward moment. “Then go to your room.”

 “Frederick,” his mother said unhappily, but didn’t protest further.

 Jean gulped down his stew and fled, but not before he saw his father almost sub-consciously touch the smudge on his collar with a strange, troubled expression.

 

\--

 

Jean wondered if he was an omega.

The thought came while reading romance novels by candlelight in his room, sulking from yet another mortifying ordeal where his mom tutted and soaked his bruises with a warm towel even after he’d tried batting her off. He was _fourteen_. He got acne and awkward boners and none of his clothes fit, he was far too old to have his mommy kiss his boo-boos better.

Sure, Jean wasn’t stupid enough to think she’d missed the sheer amount of injuries he was occurring in such a short period of time. She just worried too much. He could handle it.

_If only you’d kept your mouth shut_ , they’d told him. _If only you just listened_.

Firecracker omega protagonists in trashy romance novels would beat those idiots’ heads in, then go flouncing off to the one and only alpha they’d lower their head and submit to. Sickeningly romantic, but that came with the genre. Point was, they didn’t take any shit.

Like Jean.

It certainly explained why he didn’t want to take the reins so much as shove Matthias Tchuberg down a flight of stairs and find someone else worth his while.

“They’ve been bullying him,” he heard his mother whisper to his father on a rare night when he’d been home without the threat of, you know, a wall falling down. His father sighed and placed his hat on the table, obviously annoyed at being troubled with Jean’s antics so soon after arriving. Oh yes, sitting in a cart coordinating sales as a merchant was such a pain. “They’ve been following him after class, beating him up because they think he needs to be taught a _lesson_ —”

“Well what do you want me do about it, Celine?” his father had said wearily. “Boys will be boys. They just get nastier, meaner and subtler over time. If Jean can’t handle them now, he’ll have to learn how.”

“But—“

“The Tchubergs are an important supplier of mine. Jean should learn to play nice.”

“It’s not Jean’s fault, Frederick. Can’t you just talk to Jacob Tchuberg? Please?”

“No,” his dad said, voice clipped in a tone Jean recognized as This Discussion is Over. “I’m sorry, Celine. I can’t.”

“Why not? Your son isn’t worth as much as your business contact, is that it?”

“Celine—”

“You aren’t the one who has to sit here every night patching him up and looking at every wound and going to meetings with his teachers because those boys antagonize him in class too. You aren’t here to see this,” his mother’s voice broke, and Jean became acutely aware of how his father’s absence affected her too. He hadn’t thought of it that way before, and his face flushed with shame. “So forgive me if I ask you to do one little favor before you waltz off again.”

“I do what I do to feed this family,” his dad snapped back. “You know that.”

His mother said nothing.

After an angry beat, his father picked up his hat, placed it on top of his head, and walked out the door.

Jean’s mother sat down in a kitchen chair and placed her head in her hands, looking small and alone and god. Sometimes, Jean really did wish he could pretend being an alpha was a possibility, because his father dragging his mother into this battle _wasn’t fair_.

Life as an omega or a beta was perfectly fine outside the Kirstein household; hell, by being a guy alone Jean had a leg up on practically half the population. Girls always had it rougher, even the alpha ones, which was bullshit because an alpha female on a rampage was so much fucking scarier than an alpha guy with muscles.

Alpha girls were just so viciously _crafty_.

But his dad had long made his position on omegas clear. Male omegas were a building block. A half of a whole. Coupled alpha-omega pairs were prized above everything else, but an unbonded male omega wasn’t seen useful by himself as a beta or an alpha.

Jean thought his dad was full of shit.

No one else agreed with that kind of backwards theology. Anton down the street could prove how half a person like him could still kick his dad’s sorry alpha ass halfway to Tuesday. Not that it’d change his mind. To Frederick Kirstein, his word was law—even if it meant his son fuming in the stairwell and his wife crying in the kitchen.

Jean had had fourteen years to get used to him not giving a fuck, but it still _hurt_.

When he couldn’t take hearing his mother’s quiet crying anymore, Jean walked upstairs to his bedroom and slipped under his covers. Rather than lighting a candle and cracking open a book as he usually did, he remained motionless in the dark.

 

\--

 

When Jean Kirstein turned fifteen, he enlisted in the military.

“Are you kidding me? The _military police?_ ” Matthias Tchuberg had jeered the week before he’d left, pinning Jean down with his sheer size. “You’ll wash out in a week. I want to see your precious daddy’s face when he realizes how you’ve disappointed him. _Again._ ”

“Shut the fuck up!” Jean had snapped before sinking his teeth into the boy’s wrist. Matthias had howled and let him go, which would have been an accomplishment if Matthias’s two friends hadn’t come barreling towards them as backup.

Jean, as usual, had fought alone.

He didn’t feel babyish when he’d crawled home and his mother washed the grime from his splotchy face with a wet cloth; in fact, Jean was far too tempted to break and cry into her shoulder right then. He held himself together with sheer pride, hissing when she bandaged the sprained wrist and wiping medicine onto his cuts.

_One more week_ , Jean had chanted to himself like a mantra. _One more week and I’m out of here._

If Matthias’s dad weren’t so chummy with Jean’s, he still would have gone over their house in the dead of night and threw the fat bastard out a window.

So it was refreshing seeing everyone stripped to its barebones in training camp. They weren’t kids with families and pasts and histories. They were _soldiers._

Brutally efficient soldiers. Jean couldn’t help but gape as he was led past the enlistment booth to gather his new belongings. It was one thing to hear about how structured careers took full advantage of instinctual alpha-beta-omega dynamics to organize their squads; it was another to see it in action. To _smell_ it.

Nothing like good old physical compatibility to tie a group together.

And if he did present as an omega, well. He didn’t need an alpha or a beta, but working in a pair seemed inevitable in such a instinct driven environment. He hated proving his father right, but he didn’t care. He was _out_.

Also, Jean was optimistic. Of all the whack job trainees heading into the camps every year, there had to be at least one good enough for him to _want_ to cede control to, as impossible as that idea sounded right now.

_Besides_ , a tiny voice whispered in the back of his mind as he slipped on the tan jacket over his shirt and stared at the image he made in the mirror, _Maybe it’d be nice not to be alone for a change._

 

\--

 

It was the month after his fifteenth birthday when Marco received an ostentatiously packaged letter, bright green-and-yellow wrapping paper standing out like a beacon amongst the other, more tasteful letters.

The courier smirked when she handed it to him, but didn’t say anything unfriendly; Marco got along very well with pretty much everyone in the village. He probably had an admirer, that’s all.

Marco himself didn’t think much of it, until he set the package down and realized he recognized the pattern. It was the same as the Linden’s tablecloth, back when they used to live in Jinae.

He went to his room and tore it open, revealing a letter written on thick paper and a—oh. Oh my god.

It was an acceptance letter into the military, for the enlistment of cadet Marco Bodt into the 104th Training Corps. Marco’s hands shook as he unearthed the bulk of his package: the military coat and a pair of neat, pressed pants. The boots would be given to him upon arrival.

Bundled up in the coat and pants was a silver ring, plain but for its pattern of interlocking circles.

Marco didn’t need to read the letter to know who this was from, but he was eager to read it anyway.

_Hey, kid_ , August’s messy scrawl stated, _if you still want to see the world, the door is open. There’s a price, but it’s worthwhile, I swear. Write me back. I worked real hard to convince my boss to break you out; you know as well as me how hard that is. The ring is a mark of favor from a friend of ours, and will identify you as one of us. Show it to the right people and they’ll help you. Hope to see you soon._

It was unsigned

Marco had a lot of friends in Jinae. His family bustled about easily, father working in an office by day and coming home to a warm, loving home at night. He’d be on the fast track to working alongside his dad if he stayed, which wasn’t a bad life. Not rich, but comfortable. Plenty of food, warm companionship, and security to last him until he keeled over and died.

Well, that was morbid.

It was the first time he’d heard from August in a few years, but it wasn’t like he’d forgotten him. People don’t leave Jinae—not unless someone very high up owed a favor, as the Linden’s had. Marco supposed he should be scared at having his world interrupted like this, but he wasn’t. Marco didn’t scare easily.

He put the ring onto his right middle finger and raised his brow at the fit. It was perfect. It also felt like a lock around his heart—a physical reminder of the price he was to pay. Everything had a price; the question was if one was willing to pay it. He unfolded the jacket and went into the washroom. Eyes not leaving the mirror, he carefully put it on and smiled at his reflection.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be his new life. A new start.

1.

 

Jean couldn’t believe how bad of a start his training had gotten off on. Shunned by one of the most beautiful girls he’d seen in his life and then beaten by her scrawny—brother? boyfriend? whatever—in front of everyone? He wanted to die of embarrassment.

Having made a complete ass of himself, he wasn’t surprised when no one approached him as he sulked into his water. Probably too busy sneering at him behind his back. Jean tamped down the indignant hurt flushing through him.

This was supposed to be his new life. A new start.

Well fuck them. He was too good for them anyway.

The only person who bothered asking after him was some tall, lanky guy with too many freckles and the open naivety of a gullible idiot. Jean squinted at him; he didn’t look like bad company, if a little dorky. His instincts weren’t normally such a crap judge of character, so maybe this was fine.

After only a few hours, Jean suspected the universe was trying to bite him in the ass. His instincts were _broken._

Because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite shake the guy.

“Don’t you have other people to suck up to,” Jean snarled when the freckled boy followed him out of the dining hall that first day. “Or are you so lame and stupid, you can’t help but be dazzled by my amazingness?”

Marco just smiled serenely. “You’re so full of crap.”

“You can’t say that every time I insult you,” Jean informed him. “Two times at most. More than that and you’re just weird.”

“I don’t mind being weird,” Marco said, and then proceeded to claim a bunk together with Jean when none of the other boys stepped up to the plate. Jean had thrown him a dirty glare even with his cheeks still flushing red with embarrassment. The incident with Eren had spread quickly, and it wasn’t as if Jean excelled at making friends anyway. But that didn’t mean he wanted want _pity_.

Marco remained impervious to Jean’s glares and simply placed his belongings next to his cot. When he bent down to examine the blanket, Jean caught a glimpse of the skin beneath his collar. Geez, the boy had a lot of freckles. Freckles everywhere.

Jean flinched when Marco looked up at him, having obviously felt the gaze on his neck. Flushing, Jean turned his back and patted down his own cot because _awkward_.

God, he probably thought he’d been checking him out. Not that Jean was strictly into girls—some people had a preference even before they presented, but Jean wasn’t picky—but it bothered him because he _hadn’t_ been looking. He’d been pissed and sulky and annoyed, and he didn’t want to add romantic misunderstandings to his list of dramatic bullshit.

And it wasn’t like Marco was _that_ cute.

Thankfully, the other boy didn’t bring it up and their not-quite-friendship continued into their first few weeks of training.

Which was when it became obvious that Marco hadn’t been joking; he _was_ weird. Not in a noticeable way, because the other trainee was as good a poster boy for Nice Guy on Earth as the Wall Gods themselves. Tall, kind of handsome—but mostly dorky, Jean was compelled to disclaim that thought—and possessing a pleasant demeanor. Even after being forced to run backpacked up a mountain for hours. Attracting friends should be as easy as honey to flies. But the reason he stuck close to Jean seemed to stem from some instinctive awareness that other people wouldn’t be as accepting of his strange slips, because other people had better things to do.

Jean, on the other hand, was as alone as he ever was. He’d stopped chasing Marco off after the first few days and pretended he was only putting up with him out of sheer boredom, when honestly Marco was his only company. Weird company, but company nonetheless.

“Were you raised under a rock?” he said when Marco came back from a card game and asked him, all concerned, if public sex was acceptable in certain situations. “No! What the hell?”

“But what happens when an omega presents?” Marco said. “Don’t they get all… you know…” He stared down at his crotch and Jean resisted the urge to bury his face in his notes. “So wouldn’t that cause a lot of public sex during their first heat?”

“Marco,” Jean said slowly. “Omegas don’t get turned on during their first heat.”

“Oh.”

“That’s for their second heat, and even then they don’t lose control and _fuck in public_. God! People aren’t animals!”

“But if it’s their second heat, wouldn’t they only have three months to prepare in case an alpha holds them down—”

“Stop,” Jean said. “Stop, stop, stop.”

Marco looked hurt, and for the first time Jean realized how earnestly curious he was. He wasn’t playing dumb to get a rise out of him; this guy literally had _no idea_. Knowing something that Marco didn’t helped power Jean through the difficult conversation to come, because no matter how embarrassing he found it this was a public service announcement crucial to surviving in, you know. The world.

“First, an omega would claw out the eyes of any alpha that tried making them do anything they don’t want to,” he said, cheeks tingeing red at the thought. Watching his docile mother fly into a true omega rage when seriously crossed had seared a warning sign into Jean’s head. Forever. “Second, alphas present a full year after omegas. And it’s frowned on for older ones to touch omega yearlings. Unless the alpha’s a yearling him or herself, those knotheads should keep their dicks away.”

“That’s interesting,” Marco marveled, like he was witnessing a fascinating science experiment. “Forming a culture that protects the omega. So if an older alpha, like… hm, Shadis approached a student…”

“Oh god,” Jean said, and his expression apparently told Marco all he needed to know.

He half suspected Marco had escaped from a Wall Cult or some hillbilly farm in the middle of nowhere, because how the hell did he not already know this crap? He was _fifteen_. And the guy couldn’t have grown up in a box because he knew a lot of other things, like being polite, basic living and personal hygiene, playing card games and shooting a gun. He just didn’t know… anything about dynamics?

Jean had found out about omegas at the age of five when the daughter next door presented. He saw alphas brawling at eight, one apparently having raped the beta daughter of the other.

While it was technically a police matter, people still considered it justified for an alpha to beat another to death in a brawl. Animal instincts obeyed no law.

His mother had covered his eyes and led him back into the house, but not before Jean could see the sheer fury in those alpha-red eyes. The thrumming buzz of alpha senses warring in the air. Electrifying.

And Jean considered himself a pretty average example of a Wall Rose kid. A Wall Rose kid from Trost, where people used to pass through all the time before Maria’s fall and was now constantly reinforced by the Garrison. Basically, a place where Jean got to see all kinds of people.

Jean had never seen anyone like Marco before.

He tried asking him once, perhaps a month into training, after the boy had tried stopping a fight and got caught in the crossfire. He’d had crawled back to their bunk with a swollen eye and a cut lip, but had been more interested learning the meaning of the insults thrown then, say, laying down on the cot and keep from agitating his wounds.

Jean scowled at him and fetched the ointment he kept in his bag. He smoothed it over Marco’s cuts with his fingers, which would have been weird pre-military, but being body-shy was one of the first things to go when forced into close proximity to moving, constantly-hurt boys. Not that Jean was in the habit of soothing his fellow cadets’ wounds, as Marco was.

It’s just that, for all the time he spent taking care of others, Marco had the frustrating tendency to forget about taking care of himself.

And that drove Jean _crazy_.

So it wasn’t concern for the guy’s well-being that drove him to help bandage his wounds; it was a pure, selfish desire to go to sleep soundly without having to gnash his teeth at Marco’s stupidity.

“Why don’t you know any of this shit?” came out of Jean’s mouth while thinking about this, tactless as ever. Whatever. After a lengthy explanation of how “Your mother is a spotted cat” pissed all over an omega’s decency and danced on top of it, Jean deserved a few stupid questions of his own.

Marco was silent for so long, Jean thought he’d fallen asleep.

Then, Marco said for the first time, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

And then continued to ask questions about the other insults, and perhaps Jean was still startled because he didn’t hesitate in answering them. He’d just been lamenting over Marco’s tendency to let others treat him like a doormat; outright refusal seemed so out-of-character.

Jean finished with his clumsy medical treatment and pushed Marco back down, a universal sign that he was finished dealing with weird bullshit and he was going to roll over and go to sleep. Marco, being either a clueless idiot or a knowing little shit, smiled and traced a soothed cut with his thumb.

“Thanks.”

Jean flushed and averted his eyes, cursing Marco’s uncanny ability to sidestep awkward conversations. He didn’t even bother acting like Jean had ever asked the question.

Jean didn’t ask again.

 

\--

 

Jean wasn’t sure why Marco hung out with him, because after plugging the missing gaps in his world knowledge he went out and made friends with… everyone.

Marco, Jean soon discovered, was a genuine Nice Guy.

He often hung back to help struggling trainees, like Eren’s little blond groupie. What’s his name. Armin? And instead of training relentlessly like Jean did in his own lonely bubble, Marco chose to spend his time coaching others on their technique and listening to them blubber about missing home.

But he still spent most time with Jean, who bristled at the thought of Marco pitying him but couldn’t get himself to snap past the point of no return. It became a game of how much Jean could act like an asshole before Marco got sick of it and left, which would be kind of mean-spirited if Marco wasn’t obviously, completely aware of it. Also the whole damn thing was rigged. They shared a bunk and, no matter how hurt Marco looked or how guilty Jean felt that day, they got into the habit of talking during the awkward time before sleep came.

“Don’t you want to get into the Military Police?” Jean asked one night after spending way too long wondering if he owed Marco enlightenment. Let him suffer. Except it physically pained Jean to keeping seeing Marco stab himself in the foot, and maybe actually informing him of it would get him to stop. “Only the top ten get in. You’re just helping the competition.”

“It’s not a _competition_.”

“If you’re too stupid to see that,” Jean rolled his eyes and slipped further down into his blankets.

“We work in squads,” Marco said long after the accepted amount of time passed to respond. Jean pretended he was sleeping and ignored him. “Even in the Military Police, being able to work in a team is crucial. That’s why all dynamics are welcome here. You have to lean on your teammates, so helping everyone is good for you too.”

“I thought I was clear,” Jean finally rose to the bait, cracking open an eye. “It’s the sweet life behind Wall Sina for me. Go on your serving the king spiel to someone that’s got their head in the clouds. Like that Jaeger kid.”

“You’re such a liar,” Marco said. “It’s funny how hard you try and pretend you don’t care.”

Jean scowled into his blanket and resisted the urge to smack him. Not for the first time, he considered tipping the scales of their… friendship by outing his freakishness. Of all things, it seemed most likely to chase Marco off for good. But why would he do that? The brief satisfaction of seeing crushing hurt in those chocolate brown eyes? Marco was bearable company and his source of gossip. And it wasn’t like the rest of Jean’s training was a picnic, either.

“You don’t know me,” he said flatly, and turned around so he didn’t have to stare at the hurt in Marco’s stupid, freckly face.

Except Jean wasn’t immune to Marco’s pain, because after another few days of watching the boy run himself ragged trying to tutor Hannah, spar with Franz and take over Nack’s kitchen duties so he could go gallivanting around with Mylius smoking what-the-hell-ever in the woods, he was ready to crack.

“Wash your own damn dishes,” he snapped when the Connie kept wheedling Marco for help after class. Connie, not used to Jean talking to him, looked at him like a plant had suddenly stood up and began dancing. “You shouldn’t be shirking them off anyway, and Marco has other things to do. Like sleep.”

“It’s fine, Jean,” Marco smiled weakly, and Connie glared at him.

“Marco said it’s fine, see? ‘Sides, it’s none of your business what we do.”

“Can’t you tell he’s about to fall over?” Jean’s temper was getting the better of him. “Yeah, he’s a nice guy but stop being such an inconsiderate ass that you drive him out of camp! Or what do you think will happen if he drops out? Is that your plan? Lessen the competition for the military police, is that it?”

Connie looked taken aback, then sheepish, and then offended. He went on the offensive to cover up his blustering shame, “No, but that sounds like something you’d do, John.”

“It’s Jean!”

“I want to get into the military police, but I want to make friends too,” Connie said hotly. “ _You’re_ the one that’s too good for the rest of us peasants. Everyone knows you’re gunning for the MP after what happened with Eren; hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if _you’re_ the one using Marco!”

Jean’s face flushed red, and before Marco could intervene he threw himself at the shorter boy and they went tumbling down. Fists and limbs and nails dug into skin, and while Jean was larger and stronger, Connie was a crafty shit. As he worked to keep those wry fingers out of his eyes, Jean spent a moment wondering why he was so angry. Yeah, using Marco fit in with his self-perception as a cynical strategist, but the honest truth was that he _wasn’t_. At least, not in any way he understood.

He made a point not to ask Marco for help. If they trained together, it was because Marco followed him and not because he’d asked; similarly, they ended up studying together because Marco wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone. He wasn’t asking the guy to cede more than he had because he was a convenient doormat who couldn’t say _no_. He wasn’t trying to actually hurt Marco.

Funny, given that he constantly insulted Marco without too much guilt, but _this_ was what did him in.

Reiner ended up yanking Connie and Jean apart, but not before one of the instructors had caught sight of them. They were frog-marched to an office, wounds smarting and faces red in humiliation, and were disciplined accordingly. Extra heapings of stable duty for both of them, which were hours Jean sorely needed to keep on top of training. Hot rage coursed through him at Connie Springer for putting him in this situation, and at Marco for being such a bendable idiot. Even more so after Marco actually got upset at him. _Him!_

 _“_ Connie is my friend, Jean,” Marco snapped. “I was more than happy to help him, why did you—”

“Why did I what?” Jean scowled, crowding Marco off of his cot and onto his own. “Make sure Connie knew that you weren’t super human? You’ve gotten less than ten hours of sleep in the last three days, all because you keep running after everyone. You can’t fix everyone’s mess, Marco! And even if you could, it’s not your responsibility to do it anyway!”

“I’m sleeping,” Marco said, because that was obviously the most important part of Jean’s PSA.

Jean shoved him, and he went toppling onto his cot. He half expected the guy to hit him back, but Marco just lay there like a ragdoll. Case in point.

“Marco, we _share a bunk_. You’re not sleeping. You almost fell over in training today. I don’t even know why I try,” Jean snarled and wiped his thumb against where his cheek was bandaged, where Connie had clipped him with a nail. “Drive yourself into the ground for all I care.”

“Jean…” Marco said, finally looking apologetic. Too late. Jean was pissed, and he was going to make damn well sure the other boy knew it.

He didn’t speak to him for a few days just to get his point across, except Marco seemed too… touched? concerned? by Jean’s defense of him to take the cold shoulder to heart. Something had changed. Jean felt like he’d shown his hand. Like before he’d been keeping his interactions in a clear, I’m-just-putting-up-with-you category, but this pretty much fell into the category of him _actually giving a fuck._

And there was Marco, going about eating meals with Jean’s silent, bristly self and actually _turning down_ some requests for help, and it all had Jean feeling… off-guard. He wasn’t used to defending anyone not himself, and it made him horribly uncomfortable. He watched Marco after the boy had fallen asleep in the cot beside him, his lashes resting on his cheeks and lips slightly parted.

Marco Bodt, Jean found, infuriated him.

 

\--

 

He didn’t have time to mull this over too much because Jean, as it turned out, had made an enemy out of Connie Springer. Yeah, Eren Jaeger was an asshat who Jean quarreled with constantly, but Jaeger was nothing compared to how Connie chose to take that one brawl as an invitation to make Jean’s first few months of training a living hell. On top of the already excruciating physical training that had Jean wishing he’d worked out more before coming here.

It pissed him off. The twerp was so stupid he’d ram into a wall if you said it’d help build endurance, but obviously Jean had underestimated his craftiness. That, and when Connie teamed up with Sasha, they came up with a staggering amount of nasty pranks that were just annoying enough for Jean to fill with rage and just mundane enough not to bring it up to the instructor.

Not that Jean ever considered tattling. First rule of bullies: telling would make it a thousand times worse.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a dick,” Marco finally suggested while watching Jean scrape the sap from his hair. Goddamn it, don’t tell him he was going to have to cut it all off. He was going to kick Connie’s scrawny ass. “Connie’s a good guy, you know.”

“ _He’s_ a dick,” Jean snapped, wincing when he tugged too hard and yanked out a tuft of hair. Figured Marco was going to take _his_ side. “That thing with you happened weeks ago.”

“Yes, but in the time since you’ve called him a bald-headed shorty, insulted his mother, and proceeded to steal his portion of dinner,” Marco pointed out, and Jean refused to feel bad. “What I mean is, Jean, you don’t have to strike first in anticipation of them being mean. Maybe they were never going to be mean to you.”

This was too much self-reflection for Jean in one day, but Marco just didn’t know when to stop.

“Look, I can talk to Connie. Maybe you should join our card games after dinner—”

“I don’t need your fucking pity,” Jean snarled, and Marco’s expression shuttered.

“Fine.” So even the brunet’s endless patience had its limits. Except Marco Bodt was always full of surprises, because instead of stalking away he took Jean by the arm and dragged him out towards the bathhouse. “Sap turns back into liquid in hot water. It’ll be better if you take a shower.”

Of course. He’d forgotten that Marco was a Nice Guy, not prone to taking his anger out on other kids like Jean did. He burned red with shame and practically ran into the bathhouse, feeling too embarrassed and stupid to even thank the other boy.

Because Marco didn’t really understand what it was like. Marco _belonged_.

“Marco!” some girl would just come up behind them and put a lily white hand onto Marco’s shoulder. No warning or anything. That’s how warm everyone was around him. This time, Jean glowered from where he sat across Marco at the common room table with notes spread out in front of him. “Marco, can you lend me your notes from yesterday? Benny borrowed mine and hasn’t given it back yet.”

“ _I’m_ copying his notes,” Jean growled, and Marco jabbed him in the side with an elbow. What? “Go away, Natalie.”

“It’s Nadia.”

“I don’t care.”

Nadia narrowed her eyes at him before turning and practically blinded Marco with a dazzling smile. “That’s fine if you can’t. Can we at least meet during lunch to talk about it?”

“Sure,” Marco said before Jean could protest. Nadia beamed again and, with another squeeze of Marco’s shoulder, flounced away as quickly as she’d appeared. The moment she had escaped a good enough distance away, Marco rounded on Jean. “Jean! That was so rude of you.”

“No it wasn’t,” Jean snapped, already pissed after Connie had somehow found a way to hide all his underwear after he’d come out of the showers. He had to—oh god, oh god this was too mortifying to even think in his head, much less remember—borrow a pair from Marco and if that wasn’t kind of gross to think about. At least Marco was a clean as he was a goody-goody honor student. “I was just telling her the truth.”

“She needed those notes!”

“No she didn’t. God, are you an idiot? She was hitting on you!”

Marco blinked at Jean, honestly surprised. “What? No. What?”

“Uh, yeah she was,” Jean made a grabby hand motion. “All, ‘let me massage your shoulders as I ask for your _help_ , Marco, I need you to _take care of me_.’”

“She wasn’t like that.”

“She was,” Jean said. “And you’re eating lunch with her.”

Marco mulled this over, and Jean took the time to double-down on note copying. Why was he so upset anyway? Marco was his—friend? person who put up with him?—and didn’t owe Jean his attention, even if Jean had the habit of taking it for granted. If Marco wanted to date some random chick with a too-fake smile and a tendency to claw a man’s shoulder, then that was his right.

When the silence dragged on too long, Jean put down his pencil. He said, awkwardly, “You can, you know. Go out with her.”

Marco’s face did a strange twist, and he rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. “Well—well, I honestly didn’t think about it. I’m not interested in her that way, you know.”

“Dude. That’s the fifth girl you’ve shoved into the friend zone in the last two weeks. So you’re just into guys then?”

Marco flinched like he’d been slapped, and Jean blinked.

The other boy worked his jaw before averting his eyes. “Maybe. What about it?”

Jean leveled him an incredulous look. “Uh, nothing? Dynamics are more important than gender. Two guys isn’t a big deal.”

Only after Jean said it did he realize that no, maybe Marco didn’t know that. The guy was so good at pretending to be normal, even Jean forgot sometimes that there were basic, human details he just… didn’t approach the usual way. Who knows, maybe two guys liking each other was horribly taboo in wacko hillbilly land.

Which… was kind of sad.

Jean softened. “Seriously. I mean, I’m into both and that’s not even that weird…”

Marco threw him a startled look. “What?”

Jean snapped his mouth shut. The other boy looked too interested, like Jean had started rambling on about the aerodynamics of their 3D gear and please, tell me more. Marco’s attention had him squirming uncomfortably on the inside. Why did he care so much what Jean liked?

He deflected, “It doesn’t matter what you present as, no one cares as long as babies can be made. And sometimes not even.”

“Jean!” the dude had the gall to sound scandalized.

“What? You think omega guys have heats for fun?” Jean went back to note-copying before he could do something crazy, like crawl over the table and _hug_ Marco. Jean wasn’t a huggy person. Really. “Birds and the bees, Marco. Besides, the military likes guy-guy pairings; some kind of aggressive manly bullshit. You’ll be fine.”

Marco gave Jean a small, wavering smile, and Jean resolved to curse out whatever hillbilly village he hailed from for even putting him in that position. Marco might be a doormat and a goody-goody, but it took a lot to actually crack through that infuriating level-headedness. The last time he’d seen the guy look so unsettled, it’d been when he asked why he was so weird to begin with.

So Marco liked guys. There were plenty of guys who looked up to him, and a good many amongst those who’d love to, ah. Go to lunch with him.

Jean finished copying notes with a flourish and handed the stack of papers back to Marco, who’d schooled his expression back into his default friendly look.

He’ll be fine.

And as long as Jean didn’t actively ask about Marco’s dates, he wouldn’t think about the strange, uneasy feeling in his gut and why it was there.

Thankfully—or not—he had other problems. Jean didn’t worry so much about landing a date as he did interacting with people in general. Because unlike Marco, Jean _didn’t_ belong. He was just a bit too assholish for the other guys to get along with outside missions, and even during missions he seemed cursed to constantly offend everyone within a five kilometer radius. Hell, the last time he’d journeyed out into the woods with Jaeger he was surprised Mikasa Ackerman hadn’t strung him up by the boots and left him hanging in a tree.

Well, maybe he deserved it.

The moment he thought that, he panicked. No, no, no. Fuck the other trainees. Jean didn’t need their _approval_ —they were nothing.

So it didn’t bother him. Not when Thomas made a loud comment about Jean almost freezing to death that last time he’d gone off into the forest himself; not when Connie and Sasha stole his entire cot and blankets and Jean couldn’t find a new place to sleep because _no one wanted to sleep next to him_ ; not even when he’d fallen onto his ass in front of the whole corps and had Shadis ream him out by comparing him to Jaeger, of all people. _Jaeger_.

It didn’t bother him.

Bullshit.

It all came to a head when Connie and Sasha pulled off a prank in front of the entire training camp. He hated spiders. The only one who knew about it was Marco, and of course Marco was a traitor—though some part of him stung at the thought of him joining in the pranking, because Marco was supposed to be on _his side_ —and now Jean was screaming like a fucking girl on the ground covered in spiders _and he had never been so humiliated in his life_.

Connie and Sasha were howling with laughter. The other trainees were staring. Jean could feel their gazes piercing him, judging him and finding him unworthy like every other dick in Jean’s life, and that was it. His eyes burned hot and wet and, the moment Jean was sure the spiders were off, he ran.

The only place to go was his bunk, where—for a very brief moment—he considered dropping out of the military. And what? Go back to Trost with his head hanging low, his dad shaking his head in an _I knew you would be a disappointment_ fashion? They’d come to epic blows about Jean’s decision to leave, with Jean brazenly ending the fight with the claim that he was going behind Wall Sina and would never have to bother his dad again.

He’d rather die than have to eat his words. The shame alone would be enough to kill him.

“Jean,” a voice interrupted his internal monologue, and Jean whirled to snarl at the intruder. Marco, completely used to Jean’s constant aggression at this point, only climbed further up the ladder to their bunk and propped his elbows up on the cot. “Jean, are you alright?”

“Like you care,” Jean snapped. “ _Traitor_.”

“I didn’t know Connie would do that, honestly. He shouldn’t have used the—the spider thing against you, I told him in confidence when I was trying to get him to see you weren’t some awful monster—”

“Pity.”

“It’s not pity! God,” Marco sounded annoyed. “No wonder Connie doesn’t want to give you the time of day. You’re so prickly, I don’t even know why I bother.”

“Then don’t bother!” Jean said, hurt coursing through him so strong he saw red. Marco was obviously fed up with him; he might as well chase him off himself. “I’m not your charity case! What, you don’t think I know what you’re doing. ‘Oh, poor Jean, he has no friends. I’ll be _such a good person_ by standing by him. Yay me!’ It’s fucking sick. I don’t need your help.”

Then he turned around so he didn’t have to see Marco’s face, and felt both satisfied and terrible when he heard the boy shuffle down the ladder without a word. He was alone again. That was fine.

Jean began to sob. Okay, that wasn’t fine. He got the message. Body, please stop blubbering and leaving a mess and dragging out this humiliation to the breaking point. Unfortunately, the tears and snot didn’t cease their flow and Jean had to bury his face into his blankets to muffle the noise. Everything was crumbling into dust: the paper-thin veneer of defiance; aching loneliness; the damning whispers of his father’s disapproval. Desperately wanting to fit in but too stubborn and prideful to try.

God, this hurt. It was like his chest was on fire, heart squeezing painfully and throat constricting and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t _breathe_ —

“Jean,” Marco’s voice was way too close. Jean flinched like a startled animal but couldn’t get away fast enough. He wheezed and felt a hand rubbing his back. “Jean, it’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

“G-go away,” Jean gasped into the blanket, still shaking and choking and maybe this was it. This is how far he’d come. God, how pathetic. “Don’t want anyone to s-see me like this.”

Except Marco didn’t seem to get the message, as usual—they were always miscommunicating, Jean shouldn’t have been surprised—because instead of wandering away and sparing him his dignity, he wrapped his arm more fully around Jean’s back and pressed him close to his chest.

Jean knew it was pity. He didn’t care. His pride had him recoiling at the touch, but his body craved it at the same time. Touch was comfort, as warm and soothing as his mom, and what Jean wouldn’t give right now to be at home and lean on her shoulder. Even if he wasn’t a baby anymore. Anything would be better than this.

“You’re okay,” Marco kept murmuring into his ear, holding him as Jean’s shudders began to ease. “You’re okay, you’re okay, it’s going to be okay.”

It occurred to him much later as Marco breathed calmly against him, chest expanding and contracting against his back, that this was the first time he’d let anyone other than his mother comfort him.

He hated it. No, that was a lie.

He liked it, maybe too much, this feeling that someone else was willing to shoulder his burdens if his willpower began to give out. That if he fell down, he’d have help being picked back up. And that’s when Jean finally realized that he _liked_ Marco.

Not “bearable company” or whatever the hell his insecurities tried to dredge up, but he sincerely liked the guy as a person. He liked how weird and dorky he could be even when he was flouncing off being nice—and he liked how Marco’s warm, steady presence made him feel secure. Safe.

And that was fucking terrifying. Jean didn’t need Marco Bodt’s help.

But he wanted it.

“Jean,” Marco finally said after a long enough moment had passed. Jean had calmed down a while ago, but he’d liked being held too much to wriggle away and hated himself for it. “Let’s go back.”

“No,” Jean said, lifting his head when Marco carefully sat up. He didn’t let go completely, keeping one hand steady between his shoulder blades. Jean scrubbed at his face in fury. “No, no fucking way.”

“Connie and Sasha owe you an apology.”

“I look like shit,” Jean told him, because he didn’t need a mirror to feel how puffed up his eyes were. Snot and spit had dried above his lip and down his chin and he probably looked as gross as he felt. “I’m not going back there. You can’t make me.”

“True,” the other boy conceded. He took a handkerchief and handed it to Jean, who snatched it out of his hand and wiped his mouth with it. “But if you don’t go, you can’t get your own back at Connie.”

Jean blinked at the unexpected words. “What?”

Marco smiled. It was a serene smile, the nice soft one he often imparted on those being especially belligerent—and that was what made it so fucking scary.

 

\--

 

“Sorry Jean,” Connie said, not looking particularly sorry but like he’d been told by his mom to apologize anyway. “I guess that was kind of mean.”

“Marco yelled at us after you left,” Sasha added.

“Never saw him that angry,” Connie said. “Like. Right after yelling, he went dead calm.”

“Freaky,” Sasha said, and she didn’t even know how close she was to the truth.

“So you’re only apologizing because Marco told you to,” Jean said flatly, pretending everyone wasn’t staring at how red his eyes were and how he’d obviously been crying. No one cared. “Great.”

“Apology accepted?” Connie said, drumming his foot impatiently. Of course Marco added that caveat to their play-date make up. “C’mon, I’ve got to go pee.”

“It’s accepted after I do one thing,” Jean said. Connie narrowed his eyes just as Marco walked right up behind him and dropped something cold and slimy down his shirt.

Because Connie Springer, apparently, was scared of snakes.

“Holy shit!” Connie yelped and began wiggling around. Sasha, obviously not one to be loyal, burst out into laughter at Connie’s dancing. “Marco, what the hell!”

“Now I forgive you,” Jean said.

“What is it? What is it, what did you put down my shirt?” Connie clawed at his back. “Marco!”

“A garden snake,” Marco said with a completely straight face, and Connie went ballistic. Jean looked at the freckled boy with a measure of respect; the great honor student really could act like a little shit.

It was actually a large worm, and when Connie found out he complained that he’d peed his pants for nothing. But the boy seemed kind of impressed at the prank, a sentiment he shared with Sasha. Apparently, insulting Connie’s mother was an offense worse than sin, but making him pee in front of the entire training camp was something to be admired.

“Not bad, Kirstein,” he conceded later with an over-exaggerated wiggle of his eyebrows. “Not bad at all.”

For the first time since he came to training camp, Jean felt the tenseness in his shoulders ease. Marco gave him a brilliant smile, warm and so earnestly approving Jean’s insecurity couldn’t even spin it out to be pity. That wasn’t pity. It was… some weird feeling sitting in his chest. Jean didn’t know what it was.

“You should eat breakfast with Nack and me tomorrow,” Marco said while they tucked into bed. Jean usually woke later than Marco and ended up stuffing a piece of toast in his mouth before running to training. It was a lot of effort to get up earlier. He didn’t even like Nack.

“Okay,” Jean said, weird feeling in his chest expanding until it felt like he was going to burst.

“Maybe we can talk about using the gear. Nack keeps getting tangled in his, and I’m still having a hard time controlling the amount of gas I use.”

“Don’t know if I can help with that,” Jean grumbled, trying to cover up his embarrassment with a sulk.

Marco, the little bastard, smiled. “Don’t be silly. You’ve got a natural talent for using the gear—definitely one of your strengths.”

Jean turned away so—so Marco couldn’t see him flush at the praise. Despite the mortification, however, he found the energy to finally smile to himself.

Maybe this training wouldn’t be so bad after all.

 

\--

 

Three and a half months after the Connie incident, Jean received a small, white envelope from the mail courier.

His father was dead.

 

\--

 

His mother didn’t cry at the funeral.

The fact alone had Jean wondering exactly what the fuck his dad had been involved in, because there was no way an omega should be so calm after a severed bond with their alpha. She’d expected this. His hands twitched towards her, but he couldn’t quite get himself to take her hand in his own.

Shame and grief and anger flooded him. God, he was a shitty son.

Rather than stare at the urn holding what was left of Frederick Kirstein’s remains, Jean found his mother’s gaze fixed firmly on the sky above the white walls caging them in. Freedom.

Hell may claim them both for this, but Jean knew exactly how she felt.

Arranging and then attending the funeral had taken two days; the affair was a small one with a few business partners invited. Several sleazy alphas in suits assured his mother that his father had left her in a good situation, she’d be provided for… and Jean snarled at all of them.

“Kirstein’s boy?” he heard one whisper as they stalked past, laughing at his brazenness. “More bark than bite, that one.”

Jean wanted to go after them and show them how hard he bit, except he noticed a few strange men standing at the edge of the crowd. Their heads were bent together, and when Jean ambled towards them he picked up a a few words from their conversation.

“…a fool, got himself caught like this. What are we going to do now?”

“Tchuberg…”

"As if Tchuberg can fight them off. The Naturalists have gotten more brazen…”

They stopped abruptly when Jean came too close, and like frightened wildlife they darted back into the crowd faster than he could blink. When Jean stood on his tiptoes to search for them—because what was _that_ about?—he swore he caught a glimpse of a man dressed in a green coat. He startled badly.

“Jean,” his mother distracted him before he could double-check what he thought he’d seen. “Let’s go home.”

She made him omelet rice and soup and retired to bed before Jean could work up the guts to ask how he could help. He felt so useless. Hopeless. He slipped under the covers of the bed that held him all his life and seethed at an absent father who’d been so selfish as to kill himself rather than admit to being a dick. Fell off a bridge so wide it carried horse-drawn carriages, with a railing as tall as a man.

Accident. Yeah right.

His mother acted like nothing had happened the next morning, bustling about the kitchen and preparing breakfast. After clearing the table and refusing Jean’s help, she began making lunch. Then dinner. Only when he realized that she wasn’t going to stop cooking did Jean begin getting their affairs in order himself.

His father had left them quite a bit of money, enough for his mother to remain in their family home in Trost for a long time. The merchant business was to be transferred to Tchuberg—of course, fucking Matthias—with a decent percentage of profit given over to the Kirstein family.

No outstanding debts. No skeletons buried under the floorboards, at least not ones that Jean had found. He’d half expected his dad to have a second family stashed somewhere, and almost found himself disappointed at how boring everything was.

These papers in front of him were the sum of the kingdom’s awareness of Frederick Kirstein. It was so lacking, Jean wanted to laugh and set everything on fire.

With everything settled, he had no more excuse to stay in Trost. His mother pled for him to abandon his military dream—neither of them said it aloud, but with the business handed to the Tchuberg family Jean had no obligation to do anything he didn’t want to anymore; nothing to escape from—but Jean was resolute. When he pledged to go, he’d meant it.

Three days in Trost was already enough of a vacation.

And this time, upon crossing the threshold of the raining camp, Jean felt himself able to finally, _finally_ breathe.

 

\--

 

Somewhere, only a short distance from where Jean was trudging through the forest, two people met in a grove hidden in the downpour. The darkness of night curled around them, kept off only by the faint light of their lanterns and the huffing of horses waiting by trees.

“Don’t lie to me—”

“Just leave it, will you? We didn't order the hit. If that’s all you have to say to me, you’re taking a stupid risk calling me out here.”

“August!” Marco grabbed his friend’s arm tightly, months of training already strengthening his grip so that the young man winced. “How could you guys do this?”

“Don't ask questions you don't want answered,” August snapped back. He looked a bit haggard in the lantern light, tiredness creeping under his eyes and in his cheeks. It was in stark contrast to how he'd been right before Marco had arrived at camp, and Marco couldn't help but worry about his friend. August yanked his arm out of Marco’s grip and glared at the boy. “I’ve kept you out of most of this for a reason. Don’t make my efforts useless.”

“It is useless,” Marco said. “What do you think is going to happen now? _He’s_ going to come after you and I’m not going to finish training for another two and a half years. I can’t protect you if..."

“That's not your job,” August said. “As long as you keep close to Kirstein's boy. Or is there another reason you've been so buddy-buddy with him?”

 Marco flushed and stepped back. “It’s… it’s not like that.”

“You can admit it, you know,” August said, crossing his arms. “I’m not going to judge.”

But the brunet looked upset. “Jean’s not involved in this. Honest to god, August—he doesn’t know anything. Leave him out of it.”

August sighed. “You’ve always been so _nice_. God forbid you admit to being a conniving little shit sometimes. Look, I get it. He’s your ‘friend,’ whatever that means to you. But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s still very, very much in our interests.”

Marco said nothing.

August added, “Besides, the boss will like it when I tell him you’ve successfully sidled up to the brat. Makes us helping you break out of Jinae worthwhile after all.”

“August.”

“He’s a chess piece, Marco. Stop forgetting that. God, a few months out and you’re already sounding less beta-like.”

“You’re an omega,” Marco snapped back, temper finally rising. “You’re one to talk.”

August made a face and pulled his hood up. He brushed past the young cadet to untie his horse. “Look, if it makes you feel better, you’re doing the guy a favor. If you weren’t tailing Kirstein then the boss would have sent someone else to do it. Someone without the guy’s best interests at heart. So think of yourself as his guardian angel for now.”

“Some guardian angel,” Marco said with a disapproving frown. He looked at the ground. “You’ve changed, August. There's... what's going on with you?”

“Maybe I'm finally growing up,” August said wryly. His gaze flickered past Marco—was that a shadow behind him? Whoever it wasn’t hadn’t been eavesdropping long… but even a minute was too much of a risk to take. He gave Marco a narrow-eyed look and climbed onto his horse. He led the horse into a trot away from the clearing, but suddenly yanked the horse to a stop. He turned around and pointed at Marco: no use beating around the bush on this topic. “Oh, and don’t call me out again. Not unless you have real news.”

“Good to see you August,” Marco replied. He twisted the ring on finger and braced himself for the chilly walk back to camp.

“You too, kid,” the young man’s voice softened. “You too.”

 

\--

 

Jean backed away from the dimming lights in the grove. They’d caught his attention in the thick darkness, like two eyes of a predator hiding among the leaves. The rain had been loud and the light poor, but he’d recognize the easy line of Marco’s shoulder anywhere.

Even stranger, he also recognized how upset the other boy was while talking to that—that omega on a horse. Blond hair, sharper features, and voice cold as ice. Jean wasn’t sure how he felt about him; the surge of possessiveness he’d felt at their camaraderie made absolutely no sense.

Marco was his own person with his own secrets. And while Jean wasn’t the most patient person in the world, he wasn’t dumb enough to go sniffing after anything that was sure to bite him in the end.

He had enough to worry about right now. He pulled up his hood and stepped quickly out towards the camp—no matter what happened, he didn’t want Marco to know what he’d seen.

When Jean returned to morning practice, face set and back ramrod-straight, it was to curious glances from the other trainees and careful concern from Marco. The freckled boy didn’t ask, thank god, but he did bump shoulders with Jean every so often and smile with such a graceful touch of understanding he couldn’t help but feel grateful. Clandestine meetings in the forest aside, Jean still trusted Marco the most. Goddamn sensitive nice guy.

Because Jean didn’t— _couldn’t_ —feel anything about his father’s death, and so he didn’t talk about it. The bastard had taken themselves out of their lives; Jean was going to make sure he stays there.

It was over.

This, he reflected on later, was a mistake.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to put the prologue and chapter one together since they read best back-to-back. A new chapter should be posted from every Saturday from now on.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn’t. He wasn’t ready at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some time has passed since the last chapter...

2.

Going into his first heat was hell.

Having spent the last three years alternatively excited and dreading presenting, Jean should have found peace with the concept of adulthood by now. Taken his dad’s untimely death as the release of expectations, free to accept whatever dynamic he would become with a clear conscience…

He wasn’t. He wasn’t ready at _all_.

Now, lying sweating in his bed at some god-awful hour in the morning, Jean wished presenting as an omega was as simple as snapping your fingers. One day, normal unpresented kid. Next day, wake up and bam! Omega. Because this… this dragging it out was possibly the worst feeling on earth.

It hit fast enough to be unexpected but slow enough to leave a lasting memory of the change, an imprint of utter discomfort that wouldn’t even bleed into pain. Pain Jean knew how to handle. This, though, felt like an _itch_. Unsettling and persistent and spreading along his limbs so that he was flashing hot and cold to the point where he couldn’t sleep. He stretched out his arms and tried rolling over in his cot, shifting to try and find a comfortable position but it was _impossible_.

The feeling had first started a few days ago, easy to ignore at first but increasingly disruptive to his training. Today, he had ended up lashing out at everyone until Marco had to forcibly lock him up in the barracks—with threats of bribing the trainees on kitchen duty to withhold all food from Jean until Jean learned to play nice, what the hell Marco—where he had sulked for hours in his bunk before finally trying to fall asleep. “Trying” being the key word.

He was ready to slaughter someone, he was so frustrated. And uncomfortable. At this point Jean felt like he was ready to pop—like whatever new creature nestled right below his skin was about to peel off its outer skin and emerge like some horror-story villain and eat his bedmates alive. Like this feeling of “OMEGA” was going to consume him, and frankly he was a bit terrified he wouldn’t survive it intact.

“Jean?” Marco’s voice called out sleepily from beside him. Jean muttered incoherently and rubbed his face in his pillow, ignoring his friend. A hand shot out from the darkness and awkwardly patted Jean’s cot, missing Jean’s face by a few inches. “Jean, what are you doing?”

“Trying to sleep,” Jean hissed back, still annoyed. Not at Marco. At this omega-Jean bubbling inside him. “And get your hand out of my face.”

“You keep making weird grunting noises,” Marco said bluntly, because Marco still had no filter when it comes to things like this. Jean felt his face grow warm, and he carefully turned his head so it’s facing away from Marco.

“I’m fine. Go to sleep.”

“You should go to the infirmary. You’re all… pale.”

“And you’re freckly. We all have our faults. Now mind your own beeswax.”

“Who says ‘beeswax?’” Marco said, because that was obviously the most important part of the conversation. “You never say beeswax. You think it’s stupid. You need to go see a doctor.”

“Oh yeah, you know me so much better than I do,” Jean snapped back, finally turning his head to glare at Marco from over his shoulder. Marco’s eyes were wide open and gleaming in the dark, despite the firm line of his mouth and the shadows hiding below his cheeks betraying his tiredness. “Look—ugh. This is embarrassing, ok?”

Marco’s brow furrowed. “Embarrassing?”

Holy shit, was he going to make Jean say it?

“It’s not that big of a deal. I’m just…” Jean felt his gaze flick to the right. He absent-mindedly scratched where his skin was most sore, at the junction between his jaw and neck, and immediately saw Marco’s eyes zone in on that motion like a hunter with a prey in sight.

“Oh,” Marco said. And then, “ _oh_.”

Mortified—because Jean had been so ready to say it, been gearing up for it, and this was what tipped Marco off?—Jean flipped back onto his side, resolutely facing away from his friend. “Yeah ‘oh.’ Now leave me the fuck alone.”

There was silence for a while—at least, silence from Marco’s end. Jean, despite his internal oath to keep up his glacier impression, quickly grew restless again and couldn’t help but wriggle his feet. He was in the middle of rearranging his legs when Marco finally said: “You still need to go see a doctor.”

“Shut up,” Jean snarled back. Marco didn’t say anything for the rest of the night.

 

\--

 

Jean needed to go see a doctor.

Morning found him waking up in full heat, sweating and trembling and reaching out to grasp Marco’s shoulder—“Marco… Marco!”—so that with his friend’s help, he could stumble his way to the infirmary. Yeah, Shadis was going to kick his ass later, what the hell.

He didn’t really appreciate the doctors poking and prodding him and forcing him into a cot because “First heats are unpredictable, dear, best to keep an eye on you for now.” He especially didn’t appreciate them shooing Marco out and then scolding him for not coming to the infirmary earlier, when Jean’s presenting had sequestered him away. Blah blah blah. Heats could be brutal while the body was still adjusting to presentation, whatever. He just… didn’t like being alone. With Marco gone, there was just him and a bunch of strangers wanting him to flash them—not that he wanted to flash Marco—but it was just so awkward, you know.

Heat in general was awkward.

It was also cramps and headaches and irritability and nothing made him feel better. Not even an alpha, romance novels be damned.

“Unusual,” the doctor conceded after watching Jean glare daggers at the alpha orderly who repeatedly failed to secure a blood sample from the boy. “Omegas tend to like it when an alpha’s nearby. Their scents can be reassuring.”

“I’ll claw your eyes out,” Jean said bluntly when the alpha orderly began edging closer to him, “and then shove them up your ass.”

They had some beta girl conduct the tests instead. Jean’s face burned when she asked him to remove his clothes, to examine the, uh, successful completion of his presentation and all that. So there he was, sitting buck-naked on the examination table with some beta poking around his neck and chest—he couldn’t stop growling through the whole ordeal, which was all kinds of weird—and eventually his ass.

“That,” he winced, feeling so awkward on his hands and knees he thought he was going to keel over and die. “That’s. Uncomfortable. Uh.”

“You’re pretty dry for an omega,” the girl noted on her writing pad, with the hand not sticking a finger up his butt. “But the lubrication glands seem to have developed nicely along the inside of the rim. Is it painful? No? I think you’re just nervous.”

Jean didn’t even bother deeming that with a response.

“Interior wall changes seem normal. Hold on, _this_ will feel strange…”

Jean yelped when the girl’s finger slipped into someplace he definitely hadn’t felt before, the entrance located a few inches inside his anterior wall. He clenched down on the finger reflexively. It felt strange but not bad, and if she’d just dip her finger in further it might feel better and _what the fuck_. As Jean tried to focus on his breathing, the girl had already withdrawn her finger completely and was writing more nonsense onto her writing pad.

“Interior vaginal entrance fully developed, clenching reflex present. All signs look good—nothing out of the ordinary, Mr. Kirstein. Once the Doctor inserts the IUD, you’ll be all set. ”

Oh god.

“This might hurt,” the doctor later said apologetically, brandishing the IUD between his legs. Jean cringed.

When it was finally over, Jean curled himself in his infirmary cot and let himself have a good, well-deserved sulk. He felt sticky and violated and uncomfortable. His ass was sore. Scratch that, everything was sore. Ugly part of presenting, hello. The worst part about omegas, Jean hazarded, was that they presented first—barely anyone Jean knew had presented yet, and it felt awful to be one of the few to have endured this torture.

Jean tucked his head under his arms. He wanted his mother’s sizzling omelet and glass of cold tea. He wanted Marco rubbing a soothing hand down his back, like that one time Jean was so miserably sick he wouldn’t stop vomiting in the boy’s shower and Eren had yelled at him. He wanted to be out there, at the very least, soaring weightless in the air with the rest of the trainees. _Free_.

Instead, he was trapped in some godforsaken hut in the middle of training camp nowhere, missing out on a day of classes he really, really needed if he wanted to make Military Police. The day couldn’t get much worse.

“Fuck this day,” a voice from the cot beside him muttered angrily. Jean tensed. Oh fuck no.

“Hey, horse-face. I know that’s you over there.” The voice continued, disregarding Jean’s frantic inner protests. “I can _smell_ you. How weird is that?”

No.

“I mean, everyone smells weird now. Omegas have the best sense of smell, you know. But you smell weird in a bad way. Not that you smell _bad_ , it just…”

“Shut up, Jaeger,” Jean snapped, sounding hysterical even to himself. “Stop talking so I can pretend you’re not there.”

“Wow,” Eren Jaeger said sarcastically from behind the curtain separating their cots. “Congrats, you’ve reached a new level of denial.”

“What about ‘shut up’ don’t you understand?”

“Don’t eat that porridge they give you,” Eren continued, possibly just to annoy Jean further. “It tastes like shit. Wait, no. It’s amazing. You should totally eat it. It’ll be great, I swear.”

Jean groaned. Someone, save him now.

 

\--

 

Thank god that someone was Marco.

“Brought you some food,” Marco said cheerfully, balancing a heaping bowl of stew and a chunk of bread on a tray. “Sasha and Connie send their condolences. And I mean that for real, Sasha’s the one who scavenged up some bread and that’s like a proposal right there.”

“God, I hope not,” Jean complained, but took the tray and dug into the meal with such gusto he knew he was giving himself away. It was nice seeing Marco. Not that Jean was looking forward or, uh, even expecting him to visit, but Marco’s presence automatically made him feel a million times better about the situation.

“Hello Eren,” Marco then turned to greet Eren, and Jean felt his good mood sour. He reached out with his foot and kicked Marco in the knee where he was sitting in the visitor’s chair. Marco simply grabbed his ankle with his clammy _cold_ hands—“Did you dunk them in an ice box, holy fuck”—and continued speaking to Eren. “Armin asked me to check up on you too—there’s a quiz going on right now and I finished early enough to stop by. I’m guessing you’re also here ‘cause of…?”

“Yep,” Eren muttered. Jean felt vindictively satisfied to hear fear underlying the nonchalance in Eren’s voice. “Just my luck my body decides to throw a coup the same time Kirstein’s did.”

Jean snarled at Eren without thinking, quick as a snake. He almost vaulted off the cot when Eren snarled back—threatening him and what was his, the little bitch—but Marco’s hand on his ankle was immovable. He ran his thumbs down the back of Jean’s foot, touch firm and settling, until Jean’s shoulders lost their tension and he fell back onto the cot. He tried to fume a bit longer but Marco was performing wonders with his hands.

“Don’t think I won’t cherish the moment I get away from _you_ , Jaeger,” Jean finally managed to say. He then glowered at Marco. “Also, you don’t know where that foot’s been, stop being disgusting.”

“In your socks and shoes and maybe on the ground? What, do you want me to stop?”

“It’s sweaty and it stinks.”

“Well thank god they invented something called hand-washing,” Marco shrugged, and Jean wanted to simultaneously bash his skull in and smile at him dopily. The end result formed into a near-constipated grimace. “Also, I brought you notes from today’s class.”

“I love you,” Jean said immediately, expression clearing. “Let me have ‘em.”

“Oh my god,” Eren groaned from behind the curtain, followed by drowning cat noises. Marco looked faintly alarmed at this—because what human made drowning cat noises? Jaeger, that’s who, him and his poor impulse control—and stopped massaging Jean’s foot. Jean tried not to look too disappointed.

“Eren?” Marco said, standing up.

Eren made further incomprehensible noises.

“Ignore him, he’s an idiot,” Jean said loudly. “And a crazy person. And a bitch.”

“You’re a bitch!”

Marco frowned at Jean. “Don’t call Eren names, Jean.”

He glowered at him, “Who’s side are you on?”

“Boys, the doctor needs to—oh, hello,” the alpha orderly from before stopped in the doorway. Jean narrowed his eyes at him. The orderly took a wise step back, eyes darting from Jean to Marco before deciding to go the safer route. He smiled at Marco. “Sorry, you must be another trainee, yeah? Visiting hours are over for now.”

“Oh! Of course, I’ll get out of your way.” Marco smiled charmingly like the good teacher’s pet he was. So nice and kind and earnest. Clearly these teachers have not seen him sitting on Jean’s chest and threatening to fart in his face if he didn’t get up in the morning. Ohhhh no. “Though—will they be back by tonight, sir? I mean, the rest of the boys, we’re having our bimonthly ghost story event today and Reiner wanted to see if Eren and Jean were coming…”

Eren snorted. “If only.”

“What are you, twelve?” Jean hissed.

“Almost sixteen, actually.”

“I don’t see why not,” the orderly said. “Shadis usually wants newly presented trainees to come in for morning training, so it’s probably best for you two to return to the barracks at night. We’d like to observe you both for a few more hours, however—perhaps until after dinner?”

Marco beamed. “Perfect. Thanks for letting me know… Harold? Is that your name?”

The orderly looked surprised but pleased. “Yes, actually. And no problem, it’s my job. Now if you don’t mind me asking, if you can please vacate the room…”

Marco let himself be herded out, but not before giving Jean a cheery wave and a wink. If Jean wasn’t miserably feverish and sore he would’ve wanted to chuck the empty tray at him for being so cheesy and embarrassing. Instead, he felt slightly panicked. He didn’t want Marco to leave. He didn’t want Marco to leave him here alone with Jaeger, with the threat of Shadis wanting “newly presented trainees to come in for morning training” what the ever loving fuck.

“So,” Eren’s voice finally rang out from behind the curtain. “Shadis.”

“Yup.”

“What do you think…?”

“I have no idea,” Jean snapped, glowering at the ceiling, "and even if I did, why the hell would I tell you? You’d probably go ahead and ruin it all anyway and get me in trouble, _as usual_ , so just… shut the fuck up. Now.”

Eren growled, “Bitch.”

“Takes one to know one.”

They didn’t talk to each other the rest of the night.

 

\--

 

Shadis was horrible.

“I see you all were indulging in some very untrainee behavior last night,” he growled at the special lineup he had assembled before him. Eren and Jean were joined by Mina, an omega who had presented a few months earlier, and Reiner, one of the older trainees who had presented as an alpha. “Bimonthly ghost story, my ass— more like a drunk, dick-measuring contest! Under normal circumstances, I’d have you all shoveling manure for your insubordination.”

Eren rolled his eyes when Shadis turned his back, and Jean wanted to smack him.

“Fortunately for you, your bodies are a more pressing matter.” Shadis swept his gaze up and down each trainee and Jean felt himself go hot-cold-hot at how his skin crawled. Yeah, he knew Shadis was playing the intimidation game, but it took a hell of a lot of willpower to keep his poker face at that. “I see you have all become adults now, huh? Like presenting means you can play with the big boys?”

Shadis paused.

“Well you’re wrong!” he bellowed, and all four of them jumped. “You’re not an adult until you can control yourselves, soldiers. What the hell does the military need with some omega who’ll collapse onto himself in the middle of a mission? You think those titans give a single fuck that you’re in heat before gobbling you up? Hell, maybe they even like it! And you!”

Shadis turned to glower at Reiner. “You alphas are just as flaky! Chasing after some omega ass when your comrades are being eaten by the dozen. Now needless to say, this kind of behavior is _completely unacceptable_. In fact, it’s one of the main reasons we like to get our trainees young. To start disciplining you all _early_.”

He jerked his chin towards Eren and Jean. “In fact, the best case scenario is to train you in heat or rut. Mimic real life scenarios as close as possible. Kirstein! Jaeger! Step forward.”

Too terrified to disobey, the two boys complied. Shadis circled them, stepping so close Jean could smell the strong musk of alpha. Disgust stirred in his gut—and Jean now understood what Eren was saying, how the scent itself wasn’t bad but the _feeling_ was bad—but showing anything on his face would be suicide. Eren was also playing a poker face, and both boys held their breath when Shadis stopped between the two of them.

Shadis’s eyes suddenly snapped alpha red.

The reaction was visceral. Jean’s stomach lurched as a strong wave of _alpha_ nearly knocked him off his feet. The sense dove right into him and yanked what was just under the surface upwards so fast it hurt and Jean was gasping. His eyes _stung_. He could smell everything: Eren’s sickly-sour scent, Mina’s candy-like nervousness, Reiner’s rustic woodiness, the ground, trees, sky, nature all around him—

“Shit,” Eren’s quiet voice pierced Jean’s haze, and he turned to look at the other omega. Eren clutched his face, mouth twisted in a grimace, and even through his fingers Jean could see Eren’s eyes were _gold_. Omega gold.

“…that was just a tiny taste of what some asshole alpha could do to you, soldiers!” Shadis was barking out. His alpha-gaze was fading quickly, but there were still specks of red dancing in his blackened irises. “Did you feel like you’d faint? That you’d get down on your knees and do whatever I wanted? Going gold so fast is like getting on all fours and sticking your ass up in the air! Like a _bitch_ , boys.”

He paused and stared them down with such a look of condescending Jean recoiled.

“And you’re not _bitches._ You’re _soldiers_.”

He clapped his hands and pointed at Reiner and Mina, who both looked visibly shaken at whatever they were seeing on Eren and Jean’s faces.

“While the other trainees are off doing productive things, it’s my job to _babysit_ you lot until you learn some sense of self-control. None of you are leaving this field today until you demonstrate to me you can control your gaze reflex, do you understand? Braun, Carolina. Practice your gaze on each other. Kirstein and Jaeger will remain with me.”

Reiner nodded and beckoned Mina to the side, leaving Eren and Jean to flounder on their own. Bastard. Shadis turned to face both boys and gave them a slow, creepy smile.

“Round two boys. And remember: _self-control_.”

It was hell. There wasn’t any way else to describe it. Jean was still getting used to this new feeling bubbling under his skin, trying to reason with it, and here Shadis was being a dick and demanding Jean push it down before he even really knew what ‘it’ was. It was like telling some poor guy to fix the bloody pipes without telling him which pipes to fix and then yelling at him for fucking around the wrong ones. What the hell was he supposed to do?

The only consolation was that Eren sucked too, and so they were sucking at this together and growing more and more miserable in some sort of unified despair that _almost_ served as a truce between them. Almost.

“Carolina, switch with Jaeger,” Shadis barked out after almost two hours. Eren stared up at the sky with such a look of naked relief Jean wanted to punch him. Why the hell was Jaeger catching a break and not him? Mina looked rightfully terrified as she trotted forth, and Eren patted her back before hurrying towards Reiner.

Jean tried to pretend he wasn’t about to collapse. It wasn’t working very well.

“Kirstein, you obviously need more help pounding this idea into that thick skull of yours. I want you to observe Carolina. She’s an omega but not in heat, which means her control is better than yours right now. Carolina, how long were you able to hold back your gaze reflex with Braun?”

“A… a few minutes, sir.”

“Very good. A few minutes, Kirstein,” Shadis drawled, and Jean didn’t know why he was being targeted so obviously. “That’s all you need to be effective in an every-day situation. However, I want you all to hold it longer, as a way to practice control again the alpha sense in general—and you can’t even hold it for even a few seconds.”

Jean flushed in embarrassment.

“I want you and Carolina to practice your gazes on each other,” Shadis continued. “It won’t be as strong as one between an alpha and omega, so it should _easy_. Now if you can’t even hold yourself back with a fellow omega, Kirstein, then there really is no hope for you.”

“Think about it like slamming a lid down on a pot,” Mina said helpfully once Shadis turned his back. “You’re… you’re actually doing alright, you know. I was a mess when I first presented. It’s been a few months for me, so I know what I’m looking for. Shadis is being really harsh.”

“Lid on a pot,” Jean muttered. “Got it.”

The truth was, it _was_ easier with Mina. While Shadis’s gaze had been like a whip snapping at Jean so fast he couldn’t react, Mina’s golden gaze touched him slower and gentler. It dragged the omega-part of him up rather than yanking it, slow enough for Jean to catch a hold of it before it surfaced and shove it down. Lid on a pot. Lid on a pot.

Except his omega-sense was more like some overflowing mess of a pan filled with rainbows and romance novels and other shit he didn’t want to deal with, and so he wasn’t imagining a lid so much as a metal cage to trap it with.

“Are my eyes all right?” Jean asked. He tried not to look like a crazy maniac when Mina squinted at him.

“Yeah, looks like you did it,” Mina said, smiling warmly. Jean decided he liked Mina. She was nice. “Maybe Shadis will let us go now?”

Shadis did eventually let them go. After another two hours. With a thinly veiled threat of forced castration if they didn’t return tomorrow after training “for as long as it takes to shove your dicks back into your pants—and your pussy, Mina, don’t think I’m not looking at you too” for—and this was the most horrible part—as many days as it took. Which meant that until Jean could meet Shadis’s standards, he was going to have a ton of extra training on top of their already staggering workload.

Not even Marco’s infectious cheer could put a dent in Jean’s black mood.

“Well most of us are around the same age, right? So when the alphas and betas present next year, you’ll get to sit on your bunk laughing at us horny lunatics tiring ourselves out every day.”

“Yeah, but _you’re_ laughing now—don’t deny it! You were laughing!”

“Sorry, my mouth was spasming on its own. I lose control of it every once in a while.”

Jean narrowed his eyes at Marco, who stared balefully back.

Thank god Marco had taken more notes, because it’d just be poor form for Jean to bite the hand that fed him. He supposed a day’s worth of notes was worth not kicking Marco in the stomach for occasionally being a sarcastic little shit.

He focused instead on something Marco said before. “And what do you mean ‘we?’ So sure you’re presenting as an alpha or beta?”

“Well, I guess I could be an omega,” Marco said thoughtfully. “Though probably not.” Which was true. The favored prediction for Marco had always been beta, given his levelheadedness and ability to calm a situation down. But Jean wasn’t so sure, because sometimes Marco’d get this _look_ …

Jean’s thoughts derailed when the other boy rolled up his sleeves. The motion exposed the soft skin of his wrists, one of the few places on his body not dusted with freckles. Jean licked his lips and then immediately fell over himself trying to pretend he wasn’t licking his lips.

Marco didn’t notice. He brightened at some thought. “Oh, but if I am, then I’ll join training with you guys, right? We can practice together. And then you can take care of me when I’m in heat and I’ll take care of you and it’d be perfect.”

“Unless our heats sync up,” Jean reminded him. “And then it’d be hell.”

“I think it’s only because your and Eren’s scents are incompatible,” Marco said. “I’m sure not every omega hates each other during heat. Convents wouldn’t be able to function otherwise.”

“Our scents aren’t _incompatible._ It’s hate. Pure hate.”

“Hmm,” Marco said noncommittally. He leaned forward a bit, just enough for his breath to warm Jean’s cheek and woah, what was he doing? “You do smell different.”

Jean cleared his throat. “Yeah, like an omega.”

“Well yes, but it’s… familiar.”

Which was weird as fuck to think, never mind say out loud, and Jean wanted to smack Marco for being a weirdo and making his insides squirm. But his comment reminded Jean of the fact that it went both ways: he could smell Marco, too. He hadn’t noticed yesterday, but with his improved senses now he was realizing even unpresented kids like Marco had distinct scents. It was faint, very much so, like their true scent was buried five meters deep into their soul and Jean was allowed to only catch a whiff. He couldn’t even properly describe what Marco smelled like. Safe? Comforting? Probably a conditioned response, given the number of times Marco had literally comforted him and wow, he was supposed to be reading these notes.

“I want to sleep,” he informed Marco, and Marco made a face at him.

“Jean, you were _just_ talking about being behind on notes…”

“I’ll look at them tomorrow,” Jean said, which was all the warning the other boy got before he leaned right into Marco’s space. Marco curled an arm around his waist automatically, looking surprised, but his scent exuded nothing but welcome when Jean slumped over and buried his face into his friend’s shoulder. “I’m an _omega_ , Marco.”

“I got that,” Marco said dryly.

“I’m going to be pushing kids out of my ass. It’s going to hurt like hell.”

“Your contribution to society will be duly noted.”

Jean bit Marco through his shirt for being an unsympathetic bastard. “Stop it! I’m serious, Marco. I… I guess my dad was right in the end.”

He took Marco’s left hand in his own, warm except for the cold silver ring on his fourth finger. It’d been a gift from a friend, Marco had explained, which had stirred up Jean’s irrational irritation for a few days. Marco had a lot of friends. It didn’t mean anything.

Except Jean had spent a considerable amount of time with the boy in the last year and a half, and he’d never seen him take it off.

“Omegas and alphas balance each other out,” Marco said, turning his head so he was speaking against Jean’s temple. He let Jean pet his palm without comment. “Didn’t you tell me that once?”

Jean shrugged and realized what the hell he was doing. Flushing, he dropped Marco’s hand. It wasn’t like he’d _meant_ to and—and—and Marco hadn’t pushed him away.

The squirming in his chest intensified. Marco was a weird dork who had the tendency to take too much on his shoulders and mother hen the crap out of everyone. Marco was also reliable, caring, and always seeing the good in people.

And Marco liked guys.

Jean didn’t know where he was going with his train of thought, except he knew it had to stop. Now. He couldn’t think of all those times Marco stayed out late with the other boys without Jean tagging along, and how many of those times were actually dates. He couldn’t think of any of that because _it wasn’t his business_ and so he did the safe thing and closed his eyes.

He was totally going to regret this later—like, thirty minutes later or at best maybe tomorrow morning?—but he didn’t care. Marco could make fun of him all he wanted. Hell, if the situation was reversed Jean would start making fun of him right now.

But Marco said nothing, only clutched Jean tighter, and Jean never felt so grateful to have such a good friend in his life.

 

\--

 

Later, when Jean had fallen asleep sprawled across his lap, Marco huffed and gently hauled him onto his cot. He pulled the blankets over him and crawled out of the bunk.

In the shadow of night on the back steps of the barracks, Marco raised a hand and felt rather than saw the black-and-white pigeon flutter down to land on his arm. There was a letter tied to its leg. He untied it and let the messenger pigeon flutter off, before unfolding the letter and squinting at it in the dark.

When Marco finished reading it, he squeezed his eyes shut. Then, he ripped it into neat, even pieces and watched it burn in the oven keeping the rest of the boys warm.

“Marco?” Jean mumbled sleepily when Marco climbed up the ladder to their bunk. With his face slack and mouth half-open, drool shining his chin, he looked ridiculous. He shifted under his blankets and opened his eyes a crack, frowning up at the brunet. “You went somewhere.”

“Bathroom,” Marco said, leaning over so he could brush a strand of Jean’s hair back.

Jean made a bleary face at him. “Ugh, gross.”

“I washed my hands.”

“Still gross.” Jean broke off with a yawn. He pushed Marco’s hand away and pulled the blankets tighter around himself. “G’to sleep, you big dork.”

And then he was asleep again, furrowed brow relaxing and eyelashes brushing against his cheek. Marco’s soft smile faltered. Jean, when not scowling and putting up line after line of defense, was so… compelling. He drew Marco in like a moth to a flame, and that’s what made him dangerous.

Marco wasn’t allowed to get too close. It’d be too complicated and messy and Jean—god, Jean didn’t know anything.

If Marco had a choice in it, it’d stay that way. Even if it meant holding the other boy at just the right distance, forever friendly and never touching the way Marco—secretly, selfishly, perhaps—wanted.

It was for the best.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It is nonsense,” Eren growled back. “I don’t give two shits if people hate me for being who I am, it’s when they’re judging me for things that just aren’t true that gets under my skin. It makes me want to bite them.”

3.

 

Things settled down after that.

Yeah, Jean had to put up with curious glances and awkward team assignments—his teammate’s brains seemed to have all collectively malfunctioned, leaving them flailing about like chickens with their heads cut off and acting so pathetic even Jean felt the secondhand embarrassment—but there was still training to be done, missions to be completed. People didn’t have time to accommodate whatever constituted as his presentation crisis.

Which didn’t explain why they all had time to cultivate their _annoying, fucking gossip._

Who do you think is going to present, what do you think they’ll be, I once heard omegas can get pregnant just by looking at an alpha, betas are infertile right? Oops, maybe not? Nonsense like that. It pissed Jean off so much he wanted to set the barracks on fire, and he would of if he could find a way to do so without shooting his chances with the Military Police down to zero.

Thankfully, Eren seemed as irritated by it all as Jean, and watching him often served as vindictive entertainment. “Poor impulse control,” he once whispered to Marco, who made a put-upon face that itched to comment about _Jean’s_ impulse control.

Well tough luck. _He_ wasn’t the one conducting almost-daily showdowns in the cafeteria over stupid things like sitting etiquette.

“Just because Mylius offered his seat to Hannah doesn’t mean he’s an alpha,” Eren had once screamed at some poor unsuspecting girl. “Maybe it means he’s, I dunno, a nice guy? Or maybe he was ready to go and was like ‘Hey, Hannah needs a seat!’ That’s just all bullshit about alphas taking care of others—you do know alphas only care about their omegas, right? It’s the betas and omegas who look at the group as a whole, you stupid shits!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Armin had immediately gone to soothe the sniffling victim of Eren’s fury. “Eren’s. Ah. Still a bit sensitive about the whole thing. Shadis is keeping him up late and he’s exhausted—”

“Armin, what the hell!”

Armin paled, “Oh god, oh god, I didn’t—that came out wrong, I meant—”

“I know what you meant,” the girl sniffled back. She tried to look compassionate. “It’s okay, Eren. I understand. Omegas just need more rest, don’t they?”

Eren’s face had turned an unholy shade of red at that and it was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. Marco, being the better man, had firmly dragged Jean away before he could see the outcome. Probably for the best: a minute more would have Jean hunting for his matchbox under his cot, Military Police or not.

“You know they don’t really mean it,” Jean caught Armin murmuring to Eren later. They were working on notes before class, heads bent together so that he almost couldn’t make out their words. “They’re just. Coping with the presentation process their own way, you know? Gossiping about it makes the whole thing less scary. It’s mostly nonsense, but you don’t have to add oil to the fire.”

“It is nonsense,” Eren growled back. “I don’t give two shits if people hate me for being who I am, it’s when they’re judging me for things that just aren’t true that gets under my skin. It makes me want to bite them.”

“Eren!”

“Well it’s what they expect me to do, right? And I don’t care if they bite back—I’ll take them all on.”

“Don’t set Mikasa on anyone,” Armin warned automatically. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Just. Try and play nice. Everyone’s really tense, and just being around you is reminding people of what’s to come.”

“It’s not my responsibility to keep other people from being shits,” Eren said, king of being a shit himself.

Jean scoffed and returned to copying off of Marco’s worksheet.

It hurt his pride to have to keep relying on Marco while Shadis drilled—ugh, there was a better word for this but Jean didn’t care anymore—Eren and Jean into exhaustion, but it was necessary. And it helped that Marco had been so levelheaded about the whole business. Yeah, he was curious and prone to ask embarrassing questions, but Jean had a lot of practice answering Marco’s questions by this point. Mostly, he seemed fascinated by seeing an omega up close and personal instead of obsessing over _Jean_ being the omega. It was a general curiosity, not a personal one, and other than a few false starts and Jean lashing out in embarrassment, Marco seemed to genuinely want to know how to help him feel normal again. Marco was the best.

“I think Armin’s going to be a great beta,” Marco hummed off-hand, because the universe was out to prove Jean wrong. Jean dropped his pencil.

“ _No_.”

Marco looked faintly startled, eyes flickering up from his paper to catch Jean’s eye. “Why not? Everyone’s waiting for him to present as an omega, but I think—”

“Not you too,” Jean hissed. “You’re supposed to above all this fucking gossip, what happened? Is this a ploy to get yourself ahead while I distract myself before the quiz? Et tu, Marco?’”

Marco furrowed his brow. “But I’m going to get a better score than you anyway.”

Jean scowled down at his paper. Yeah, Marco knew more about the technical components of their 3-D gear but he could have at least pretended he didn’t, couldn’t he? Jean returned to copying the answers exactly but not too exactly, else Shadis ream them for plagiarism, not that he didn’t know everyone did it anyway—and then Marco had the audacity to chuckle.

Seething, Jean stopped pretending to copy notes and fell into a sulk. Marco pretended not to notice in return—because _now_ was when Marco fell back into “considerate friend mode,” the bastard—and instead placed a warm hand on the back of Jean’s neck.

Jean froze.

Marco didn’t know what the hell he was doing. Alphas and betas touched the nape to assert dominance, and could easily earn a bitten hand if the omega didn’t want to submit. Which Marco wouldn’t know because, duh, patchy weirdo who had book knowledge of this kind of thing but no practical knowledge of it.

Well, that was fine. Jean should correct him now, like he’d done for all of Marco’s other faux pas. He should tell him back off. Now. Right now.

Any minute.

Jean didn’t say anything. He was _weak_.

“What I’m _saying_ is, people are thinking too simple when they assume Armin’s an omega,” Marco said, oblivious. “They’re looking at all those outside stereotypes about small stature and submissiveness, not at Armin’s core. His actions. He’s got a terrific beta-sense.”

He slid his hand down Jean’s back soothingly, and Jean arched into the touch before coming back to himself. Shit. Jean jerked away and did his best to ignore the ghostly tingle along his back.

“And you know this how?” Jean said, trying too hard to sound nonchalant.

Marco shrugged. “My family’s all betas. The way Armin solves Eren’s messes…” Jean snorted, because that was accurate. “…is classic peacemaking beta behavior. I see it all the time with my parents.”

“You—“ Jean wanted to ask, because an all beta family definitely sounded weird. Mostly-beta families were not uncommon, but they had their fair cropping of alphas and omegas. And the way Marco said it so easily, like he was expecting himself to present as beta too. It rubbed Jean the wrong way, and he wanted to ask because he so rarely heard anything about Marco’s family and he was a nosy shit—

Shadis chose that moment to stride into the room, and Jean’s mouth snapped closed. He hated leaving the topic alone, but even Jean knew when to shut the hell up.

 

\--

 

He couldn’t have brought it up again even if he’d wanted to, because right after the quiz, Shadis made a dreaded announcement: for the rest of the day, he was putting them all on another team-based mission. Jean didn’t know why he even bothered after the first two attempts; they were always a shitstorm of such epic proportions Jean wanted to wave a white flag before they even started.

“Now I know what a lot of you are thinking—why doesn’t Shadis wait until we all present before sorting us out? It’s because he keeps putting too many potential alphas, betas, omegas in a team together we can’t get along. Well tough shit!” Shadis barked out. “Even an all-alpha team can work together effectively if they put their minds to it. And that line of thinking completely proves my point. It’s precisely because most of you are unpresented that we’re doing this now: to figure out what your own fighting style is, _without_ the bias of your dynamics influencing you. Do you understand me? Good. Now I want squad members to stand together as I read off their names. Squad One…”

The mission was deceptively simple. Using only 3D-maneuver gear and some pre-packed survival bags, journey to a set location in the forest with your squad and retrieve a flag. Bring the flag back. Except…

“There’s a reward for the squad who collects the most flags?” Jean hissed to Armin as they tightened their straps. “Shadis wants us to fight each other?”

“The squads become each other’s ‘titans.’ Armin hummed to himself. “Also, having to act on both the defensive and offensive tests all aspects of a squad’s ability to work together. Of course, it all depends on us finding their flags to begin with.”

Armin was all right, despite being Eren fucking Jaeger’s best friend. He was scrawny and yeah, could be a bit of a liability when it came to physical challenges, but Jean liked the way his brain worked. He was practical and strategic and could be trusted to inject some much-needed sense into the frenzy some teams could work themselves into. He really would make a great beta.

Marco would have to hang Jean upside-down to get him to admit it, though.

“It looks like the target location is across the upper river here,” Reiner noted as he examined the map. “The fastest way is to cut across the forest in a straight line, but I saw Thomas’s map earlier. We’d probably cross their squad if we did that, and I think we should try and avoid confrontation so early in the mission.”

He was heading the squad at the front, automatically assuming leadership as an alpha. Bertholdt trailed a step after him, tall and dark-haired and sweating faintly in the harsh afternoon light.

“Well they’re probably not looking to fight us either,” Mylius interjected, sounding uncharacteristically broody. Jean turned around to peer at the boy sulking in the back. “Besides, neither of us would have our flags then. Couldn’t we just pass and ignore each other rather than take a longer path?”

“They could steal our map though,” Armin said.

“And you think Thomas has the nerve to steal a map from Reiner?”

“Just because Reiner’s an alpha—” Armin began, but Jean had to interrupt then.

“Mylius is right,” he said, ignoring the unsettling feeling in his gut when Mylius shot him a pleased grin. “ _You_ might not care about it, but Thomas is a scared little shit when it comes to alphas. He’s all swagger when he’s around the rest of us, but Reiner scares him.”

“I don’t scare him!” Reiner protested. They all gave him a look.

“Well, I don’t want to scare him,” Reiner amended. He glanced at Mylius. “Look, I still feel safer if we took the longer way around. If we went along this cliff and pass through some caves, it’ll only take us an extra thirty minutes to get there _and_ we’d avoid Thomas’s squad by a large margin.”

“Thirty minutes is a lot of time!” Mylius growled back. Jean caught a strong whiff of wet bark when Mylius stepped forward—interesting in its own right but disgusting to Jean’s tastes—before the smell vanished. “Just because you’re an _alpha_ doesn’t mean you get to make all the calls. I say we vote on it. Who’s with me?”

“Stop it,” Armin snapped. “We won’t get anything done if we’re being so divisive now. We already acknowledged Reiner as the squad leader—”

“ _I_ don’t remember acknowledging shit—” Mylius, again with that smell.

“Enough!” Reiner snarled, and that was alpha-red right there, glowing bright in Reiner’s eyes. Jean curled his lip at the sharp spike of Reiner’s pine-and-fresh-dirt scent. Mylius backed up immediately when Reiner prowled around him. “If you want to challenge my leadership, than do it. Otherwise, _concede_.”

Mylius surprised them all by tilting his chin up defiantly. “ _Fine_ ,” he spat, “but only because the team needs to stick together.”

He stalked away, which was a fucking stupid idea because they were in a forest surrounded by teams skulking about eyeing each other like prey, but Mylius was being a little bitch right now. Good riddance.

Reiner watched Mylius disappear, before turning back to the rest of the squad. “We’re taking the detour,” he said, voice very level. Specks of red shimmered in his eyes. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“Bertholdt, are you alright?” Armin suddenly said. Jean jerked his head to look, surprised and then completely annoyed that he was surprised. With the dick-measuring contest afoot, he’d completely forgot about the last member of their dysfunctional squad.

Bertholdt blinked, looking startled. “What? Oh. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You look a bit pale, that’s all.”

“The sun’s too hot,” Bertholdt supplied weakly, taking a step back. “And I sweat a lot in general, so it’s nothing to worry about.”

The thing was, Bertholdt really did look too pale. His normally bronze complexion was more sick coffee-cream, and there was a wildness to his eyes that seemed completely out of place. Jean felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise: there was something just on the edge of familiar with that look, and if Jean didn’t know better…

“If you need to go the infirmary, we can head back,” Reiner said, taking a step towards his friend and raising his hand gauge his friend’s temperature. Bertholdt was so drenched with sweat, he’d probably scald him.

Bertholdt backed away quickly. “No! No. I’m fine, Reiner. Let’s just go on the mission, okay? It’s just a cold.”

He looked so genuinely upset, Jean actually felt bad for him. But not enough to override his common sense. Jean wasn’t going to risk the mission because of something stupid like Bertholdt’s social anxiety; if he was sick, he’d only bring the squad down later down the line.

“Fine,” Reiner said, having no similar defense against Bertholdt’s tortured expressions. “But if you faint, I’m carrying you back myself.”

“Reiner, I don’t think—” Jean began to protest, but Mylius chose that moment to return from his sulk. Reiner gave Jean a cool stare—alpha-sense bubbling right under the surface, and while Jean knew he could resist a direct alpha-command, did he really want to further fuck up the team dynamic? No? Then deal—before turning tail and continuing forward.

Jean looked over their squad grimly. With Mylius still being a bitch and Bertholdt’s dubious health, Jean thought the situation couldn’t get more fucked.

 

\--

 

It got more fucked. So, so fucked.

Flying through the forest with their 3-D gear pretty much the only moment where conditions were bearable, because it allowed Jean the space to pretend the idiots around him didn’t exist. A clean shot with his wire secure was enough to lift him above all this human bullshit, if only for a moment.

Marco once tried to describe sky-gliding, some stupid past time the kids in Jinae indulged in because all there was up there was sheep and wheat and it sounded boring as fuck. They’d weave together sheep-skin onto sturdy poles and take turns running off rolling hills, because Jinae kids were suicidal maniacs. Jean despaired when he thought of Marco putting up with such idiots growing up, before realizing _Marco_ was one of those idiots.

The point was, Marco once tried to describe sky-gliding to Jean after he’d apparently unlocked Level Five of their friendship and Talking About His Past was okay now, and Jean had thought he was insane.

“It’s like, right before you jump, there’s this feeling, you know? Like maybe this time you’ll crash. You’ll jump off that hill and you realize, shit, the glider’s broken! And you’re pretty much hurling to your death. But then at the last moment, after you’re already in the air panicking, the wind picks up and suddenly you’re in the air, safe, because the glider wasn’t broken after all. And there’s this sense of relief, because you’re not dead or hurt and you’re _flying_ , if only for a little bit of time. And it’s amazing. The thing is, when it’s all over you realize, gee, you totally didn’t think about that fight you had with your dad that morning, or about school or that girl you just met or even titans, of all things. All you can focus on is that near-death experience, and that’s what makes it so freeing. Do you get it?”

Jean had stared at him. “You guys almost killed yourselves over and over because you didn’t want to think about _school_?”

Marco had sighed, so sad and disappointed like Jean was such an unimaginative little plebian, too practical to understand the superior workings of sheep-people. Whatever. From anyone else, it’d be one stupid conversation on a random day to be forgotten about later, except it’d been Marco. Talking about Jinae.

Marco never talked about Jinae. He barely talked about his family—two younger sisters, both parents still alive and apparently betas—and only sometimes made a few vague comments about growing up, but that spiel about sky-gliding was pretty much the entirety of what Jean knew about Marco’s hometown.

A place where even the kids were gunning to forget their woes. Christ.

It seemed even sadder now that Jean understood the freedom the air provided. Swinging amongst the trees, he didn’t have to think about the alpha-beta-omega bullshit that was just itching to sink its teeth into him the moment his feet touched the ground.

Which it did. Eventually.

Because as they settled into an open area and began walking again, Bertholdt’s condition got exponentially worse. Like, he went from ‘Oh, I’m sweating ‘cause it’s in the middle of the afternoon and the sun is hot, ha ha ha’ to ‘Holy fuck, I look like shit and I’m about to keel over, someone send help.’ The boy swayed and sweated and edged closer and closer towards Reiner, until he wasn’t really walking so much as leaning on his friend like a dead weight.

It didn’t help that while that was happening, Mylius kept picking passive-aggressive almost-fights with Reiner. We should have turned left there, not right; why don’t we just walk across that bush, why do we have to go around it? On and on and on. The one time Mylius tried to include Jean into his bitching—“Don’t you think we can just climb over the caves rather than through them, Jean?”—Jean had snarled, because Mylius was being a disruptive asshat and Jean wasn’t aligning himself with him.

Armin had given Jean a significant look at that. Jean didn’t care. He wanted to bite _everyone_.

As they picked their way through the rocks within the last cave, Mylius and Reiner started fighting _yet again_. Jean was about to lose it completely and rain abuse on the both of them until they shut up, when Bertholdt, having separated from Reiner in the obstacle-course of a cave, finally collapsed face-first onto the ground.

Reiner stopped growling at Mylius. “Bertholdt?”

“I can’t,” Bertholdt gasped wetly, face still planted in the damp dirt of the cave floor. “I can’t, I _can’t_ , stop it, both of you, _you’re making it worse.”_

“Bertholdt—” Reiner tried to rush to his side, but Armin surprised them all by shoving himself between them. Reiner snarled, so loud and visceral all the hair stood up on Jean’s neck and whoa. Something was very, very wrong.

Bertholdt was a dark smear on the ground. He hadn’t moved, and Jean realized he was the only one close enough to actually make sure the boy hadn’t keeled over and died. He had to maneuver himself around some rocks before finding the best angle to shake Bertholdt’s limp shoulder and oh. _Shit_. No way. Bertholdt was almost seventeen, which seemed way too late to be…

But this close, Jean could _smell_ him.

“Armin,” Reiner, to be fair, sounded like he was trying really, really hard to be calm. Unfortunately, he still sounded like he was one step away from clawing Armin’s face off, and so Jean thought the slight tremble in Armin’s clutched fists was perfectly understandable. “Let me see him.”

“Being near you is making it worse,” Armin said. He flinched when Reiner loped towards him, so uncharacteristically aggressive even Jean felt threatened. Jean was an omega, so he was at least protected from random acts of alpha violence—but Armin and Mylius were still fair game. Armin swallowed. “Do you understand?”

“Making what worse?” Reiner snapped.

“His…” Armin looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but here. “His heat.”

“Heat?” Reiner stared wide-eyed at Armin for a long moment. “He can’t be having his heat! He’s too—too old for—”

“They sprayed you guys too, right?” Armin said quietly, and okay, Jean was losing track of this conversation. “At the camps?”

Jean still didn’t know what Armin was talking about, but Reiner obviously did. When the words registered, he paled and immediately swiveled to see Jean hoisting Bertholdt up so the poor boy could breathe.

“He’s in heat,” Jean contributed helpfully, because he was staying out of whatever cryptic conversation _those_ two were having.

Mylius groaned. “Holy shit, this mission is fucked.”

“Bertholdt?” Reiner said, completely ignoring Mylius’s bitching. “Are you okay? Do you want me to take you to the infirmary? We can go right now, let’s just—”

“No…” Bertholdt groaned. Jean thought he’d passed out, but apparently not. “K-keep on the mission. I can’t keep going, but I can walk myself back—stop! If you come closer, I’ll—I’ll probably feel worse.”

Reiner looked stricken. Obviously he was itching to swoop in and bundle Bertholdt up in his arms and make good on his word to carry him all the way back to camp. In which case Jean would probably pitch a massive shit fit because he _called it_ , he knew taking Bertholdt with them was a mistake, but they already did it and they had to work with what they got. Also, Reiner was their squad leader. He couldn’t just up and leave.

“You can’t expect me to leave you here,” Reiner argued, proving exactly how compromised he was. “You need help.” He looked despairingly at the others, as if he expected everyone else to back up his insanity.

“Reiner,” Armin said, taking pity on him. “I think it’s best if you, Mylius and I continue onwards to retrieve the flag. Jean can take Bertholdt back to the infirmary.” Jean snapped his head up at that because _what_? “We’re not too far away from camp, and there might be enough time for Jean to come back and help us on the return mission.”

“You’re kicking me off the mission?” Jean stood up so fast he dropped Bertholdt like a sack of wet potatoes. He ignored Reiner’s sharp growl. “What the hell, Armin?”

Armin sighed, “Reiner can’t do it. Mylius... probably can’t do it either,” he said this giving Jean a _look_ again, and Jean rolled his eyes. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why Mylius was getting so pissy with Reiner. Alphas—even ones that haven’t presented yet—generally don’t like being bossed around by other alphas. “And I guess I could go, but I think Reiner would feel better if another omega was with Bertholdt, right?”

“Sorry,” Reiner said, voice tight. “But yeah, Armin’s right. I can’t describe it. I know you’re a good guy, but shit, Armin, the idea of you holding Bert up makes my skin crawl.”

“So it’s settled,” Armin nodded, and Jean changed his mind, Armin wasn’t an all right guy. He was a manipulative little shit looking at Jean with a hopeful gleam in his eye, like _Jean, you’ll take one for the team, right? Right?_ And no, Jean didn’t want to do this. Except they were all staring at him; and while Jean wasn’t one to go down without a fight, he couldn’t possibly take all three of them at once. Jean closed his eyes. Dammit.

Goddammit.

 

\--

 

Which was how Jean ended up practically toppling down a hill, Bertholdt draped across his back. The guy weighed a ton, and Jean had newfound respect for Reiner pretty much doing this exact same thing without breaking a sweat. Then again, Reiner was built like a brick shithouse. He was probably used to all two-hundred plus pounds of Bertholdt leaning onto him.

Jean was an omega. He was fragile, all right?

Shit, no, that was such a lie. Case in point: the son of a bitch trying to crush him into the ground.

“Can you at least walk?” Jean hissed, taking hold of Bertholdt by the shoulders and shaking him. Bertholdt’s head lolled like a ragdoll. “You’re fucking heavy, man.”

Bertholdt blinked at him, dazed, and so Jean shook him again for good measure.

“I,” the other… omega started after a few minutes. He stood up—oh thank god—and blinked down at Jean. “Sorry. I can’t… it’s hard for me to stay awake.”

“Well find a way,” Jean said. “Seriously, I can’t carry you all the way to camp. My back’s killing me as it is.”

Thank god Bertholdt was good at doing as he was told. Jean felt bad watching the boy sway on his feet in front of him—even he had needed Marco’s help walking when he presented, after all. Except Marco was roughly the same size as him, and hauling Jean around was nothing compared to testing one’s strength against Bertholdt’s frankly terrifying frame.

“You feeling hot?”

“Uh-huh.”

“If you want me to pass you another flask, just say. I think it helps to breathe with your mouth, too. Less smells that way.”

“Hmm.”

Bertholdt looked sluggish still, despite Jean’s forced conversation.

He nudged Bertholdt with his elbow when the other boy started leaning sideways, and got more leaning in return. He poked him harder. “Bertholdt. Bertholdt. Hey! Keep walking, man. You don’t want to be out here when the cramps hit. Not supposed to happen for a while, but at the rate you’re going…” Jean had a few days of discomfort before his first heat had unfolded; Bertholdt had gotten worse so exponentially fast he was surprised the boy was able to stand. Perhaps it had to do with Reiner. Or… “Is it because you presented late?”

“I don’t know,” Bertholdt blinked groggily. “I was supposed to be a beta.”

“I’ve never met anyone who presented as late as you,” Jean said, because he was curious and didn’t give a damn about offending the taller boy. Reiner wasn’t here to kick his ass. “Did they do something to you in the camps?”

Okay, that wasn’t his most subtle work.

But it did get Bertholdt’s attention enough for him to straighten up. He glanced down at Jean with eyes half-closed, before turning away to examine the sky. Like, how interesting is that cloud right there while my vaginal canal is working itself open and making my temperature skyrocket.

“Didn’t think I was a beta at first,” Bertholdt said, slow and hesitant. “But when time kept passing and I didn’t present as an omega, I guess we thought... I was so tall, anyway. Maybe it made sense.”

A brief pause, and Jean worried Bertholdt was falling asleep again until the brunette continued, quiet, “I knew Reiner’d take me however I was, but he… he prefers omegas. I can tell. I hated being the one he’d settle for.”

“Um,” Jean said. He wasn’t good at comforting people; that was entirely Marco’s realm of expertise.

Thankfully, Bertholdt didn’t seem to be expecting handkerchiefs and hugs, because he barreled on undeterred. “I really could have been a beta, though. All the Maria survivors who didn’t have parents, orphans, those who were lost… they sprayed us down when we entered the camps. I got so… sick, after.”

“Sprayed you down with what?” Jean asked, partly dreading the answer.

Rumors had flown high and fast in Trost after the last of the survivors rolled through the inner gate in a wagon. The camps were hell. Uncontrolled chaos as alphas fought like animals; starving children eating one another; the thousands of refugees sent right back into the titans’ mouths. There was even talk of government experiments being conducted, but it was at that point his mother had said loudly and firmly that the discussion was not meant for _children_ , and Jean, could you please go back to your room and not eavesdrop?

While Jean had been a rebellious little shit at thirteen, even he didn’t have the gall to stand up to his mom when she used The Voice. So he’d gone.

Bertholdt rolled his eyes, and wow, Jean didn’t know the brunet had this kind of sass. “They said it was a disinfectant in case any of us were carrying illnesses. Never heard of a disinfectant making people _sicker_ though. Didn’t feel like disinfectant. Didn’t even _smell_ like disinfectant.”

Being intimately familiar with that particular smell after years brawling with Mattias Tchuberg, Jean didn’t have a problem believing it. “Then what was it?”

Bertholdt suddenly looked down at him with the clearest eyes he’d had all day. “I don’t think I should tell you.”

“What?” Jean yelped. “Hey, hey, you build all this up and you can’t just—”

But Bertholdt was already stumbling away. Jean had to grab his arm and yank him back to keep him from face-planting into a tree.

“Bertholdt,” Jean said. “What was it?”

The other boy didn’t even look at him. “Suppressant.”

Whatever Jean expected to hear, this wasn’t it. He froze. Something in his mind prickled at the thought, like a dragon being stirred awake, and _that couldn’t happen_. “There’s no such thing,”

“You don’t have to believe me,” Bertholdt ambled ahead, folding his arms like he was bracing himself against a cold wind. As his face practically blinded Jean with gleaming sweat, he doubted he was getting chills. “Probably better that way. But trust me. I could have been a beta.”

Unfortunately—fortunately?—this proved to be the height of Bertholdt’s coherency, because things just went downhill from there. And if Jean spent most of his time while holding Bertholdt upright—he wasn’t cold-hearted enough to leave him once the cramps hit—remembering his father touching the small stain on his collar, well.

It wasn’t like Bertholdt was aware enough to judge.

 

\--

 

Harold the alpha orderly opened the door to the infirmary when he knocked.

“He’s okay, right?” Jean asked while catching his breath. Reiner would tear him a new one if Bertholdt wasn’t doing well and Jean had just walked away. “Nothing… weird? His heat came on really fast. Is that bad for him?”

“The heat’ll affect him harder, yes,” Harold said, laying Bertholdt down on a cot. Jean felt a thrill of vicious satisfaction when Bertholdt twisted away from Harold’s grabby hands. Glad to see he wasn’t the only one who hated the guy’s alpha scent. “But he’ll be fine. This kind of accelerated presentation happens sometimes if they've imprinted on someone.”

“You mean with Reiner?” Jean frowned at the word ‘imprinted.’ “I thought best friends becoming each other’s alpha and omega was just a rom-com trope.”

“Not everything in romance novels is incorrect.” Harold beckoned the beta-girl who had… examined Jean when he’d presented, and Jean tried not to look at her in the eye. Weird, how awkward someone’s finger in your ass can make things. Harold continued, oblivious, “You probably noticed that when people present, their scent doesn’t change. It just… becomes more obvious. There are studies showing that we subconsciously pick up on that faint scent. People are drawn to those they are compatible with, even if they don’t know it. It’s how imprinting can happen even if one partner’s unpresented—the underlying dynamics bleed out into the subconscious.”

Which was just medical speak for how some people displayed claiming behavior even before they popped a knot. Every good romance novel had the unpresented protagonist with the alpha suitor prowling around, acting possessive towards her while rebuffing the attentions of other single omegas. And then the main character happened to become an omega and surprise! He’d been imprinted on her all along. Which was when the drama started.

Jean frowned. “Still sounds rom-com-ish to me.”

“Don’t you have a training exercise to get back to,” Harold said pointedly, running out of patience with Jean’s attitude.

Jean made for the door, but paused. He didn’t want to ask, especially not Harold the Dick, but he couldn’t help himself. He turned around. “Bertholdt said something strange earlier. How he… could have been a beta? I thought a person’s dynamic was decided when they were born?”

Harold was busying himself with some medical supplies while the beta girl tended a shivering Bertholdt. “Oh, changing dynamics happens occasionally. It’s very uncommon in the normal population, though. The circumstances would have to be very extreme to force an alpha or an omega to present as a beta—it takes a lot to change a dynamic, and only omega males and alpha females can do so after presenting.”

Jean had actually heard of this before. Wars happening where only a handful of survivors remained; extreme starvation twisting the body’s needs; torture. Eat your vegetables, Jean! Do you want to end up like that crazy man on the hill, the one who gets such horrible twisted heats he screams for three days straight?

To which Jean would usually reply that he was a going to be an alpha, and so his wires were in no danger of being crossed anyway.

How ironic.

“Bertholdt had Reiner though,” Jean kept talking, even when he knew it was time to stop. “Shouldn’t that have made him present earlier, not later?”

“Well—yes. “ Harold frowned. “But the kids from Wall Maria… and even those test villages… well, there are things other than extreme circumstances that can force kids to present as betas. Bertholdt was lucky; omega males and alpha females face the most complications. It’s terrifying what human invention can do …”

There was a pause, and then Harold looked up, so obviously annoyed he was explaining such science to a lowly _omega_ that Jean’s blood boiled. “But aren’t you already an omega, Jean? What are you so worried about?”

“Nothing,” Jean snapped, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “Just curious.”

He slammed the door on the way out and tried his hardest to ignore the sick feeling stirring in his gut.

His father touching the spot on his collar. Bertholdt saying they’d sprayed them down.

Suppressants.

 _It’s terrifying what human invention can do_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, Jean didn’t mean to end up in a tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was actually the tail-end of the last one-- but it ended up being too long, so I split them. That's why this week's chapter is shorter than usual, sorry! Next chapter picks up after a small time skip, so I had to end it here.

4.

To be honest, Jean didn’t mean to end up in a tree.

In fact, he was pretty sure he meant to catch up with his squad and not completely fail the mission, because gods know how he’d keep his grades up with the omega-training on top of everyone else. 

And everything was going fine. If there was one thing Jean was good at, it was using the 3-D Maneuvering gear to its fullest. He flew through the forest easily, dodging trunks and making sure to use momentum to swing him forward rather than relying on just his gas tanks. It’d take ten minutes tops to come out the other side and trace his way back to the caves.

Unfortunately, ten minutes was just long enough for an ambush.

Samuel was never good at subtlety—he came flying in from Jean’s periphery like a jungle man, loud and visible and easily dodged. He was, however, followed by the other four members of his team—all determinedly going after Jean’s ass.

“I don’t have anything!” he hollered out, and then unhooked his left wire. Jean plummeted down so fast he came dangerously close to bashing his head on a rock, but at the last moment shot a new hook into a tree to his right. He swung up underneath the other trainees, moving quickly towards the river.

It was a small one that ran right through a thick cropping of trees, and was just wide enough to make maneuvering across it difficult. Samuel was shit at operating the gear with any dexterity, one of the first reasons Jean had decided to swing low. Trying to cross it would basically be like throwing himself headfirst into the water. But Hannah and Franz were pretty good when they weren’t making gooey eyes at each other, and they reminded Jean of this when he had to make a frantic u-turn to avoid Hannah grabbing his foot.

“I’m serious, I don’t!” Jean growled, wasting precious gas to propel himself away from the red-headed maniac. 

“Sorry,” Hannah said, not sounding all too apologetic as she circled around him again. “Mikasa’s team stole our flag. So. You know.”

He made sure to give her the finger when he hightailed it out of there, going high over her. They were gaining on the river fast, close enough to see the water flowing over its rocks at its shallowest point. Rather than head to the more obviously wooded area, Jean swerved towards the uneasy open space where only a few trees stood on both banks. He checked his gas tanks for a split second and hissed: he was using way more than he’d liked. Shit. But he’d need to use even more if he wanted to get away.

The air was his zone, after all, and not even five trainees after his ass was going to knock him out of it.

Nack suddenly flipped over him and wow, Jean jinxed it. Jean cursed and tried to twist away mid-air, but Nack was on top of him and wrestling with him and tugging the straps of his backpack apart—of course that’s what they wanted; obviously Jean wasn’t holding anything in his hands, but there were reserve tanks in his backpack; and Jean needed those—and Jean was wondering if Nack had a death wish because he wasn’t throwing out any hooks.

Self-preservation took over. Jean frantically shot a wire out, pulling both him and Nack up hard. The move gave Nack just enough momentum to yank Jean’s straps loose completely, and Jean couldn’t help the flash of omega-gold dismay in his eyes as Nack tucked the stolen backpack under his arm and shot away. 

Hannah and Franz were still gunning after him, though, and Jean had just enough pride left to want to get away with at least his own skin. With no time left, he decided to go through with his insane plan. Releasing great bursts of air from his tanks, Jean propelled himself faster and faster towards the open space. Hannah hesitated when she spotted Jean about to reach the edge of the bank, but Franz still had to reach a hand out and yank her back before she shot a wire into empty air.

Because Jean was a fucking crazy person, he kept going. One last burst, and he was using momentum to cross right where he knew two opposing trees stood just close enough to swing between them. He had to plan it carefully: a second or too off, and his hook would miss and he’d go toppling right into the watery abyss.

Right when Jean thought his boot would hit the water, he shot a hook out. It caught. With a whoop, he swung himself up on a tree branch and landed there. 

Jean turned around and smirked at Samuel’s squad standing fuming across the river. Nack had emptied Jean’s pack on a branch and found no flag inside, meaning all that work chasing Jean down had been for nothing. Mostly nothing.

Jean’s smirk disappeared when Nack picked up one of the spare gas canisters and fit it into his own equipment. Hannah shook out Jean’s cloak. And Daz, who hadn’t been doing much this entire chase, made clean work of Jean’s food provisions tucked into the side-pockets.

Jean’s stomach grumbled at the sight. Fuck. He looked down at his canister. Empty. Looked even further down. The tree didn’t have any lower branches, the bark was too smooth for him to climb down, and he was at least two stories up. Fuck, fuck, fuck. How the hell did he keep ending up in these situations?

And because he was a masochist, he sat down on his lone tree branch and watched Samuel’s team stuff the thoroughly deconstructed backpack into Franz’s own and take off.

Leaving him by himself. Stuck in a tree. With no gas or food or other basic living necessity to help him—not even his cloak for the inevitable chill of night.

Fuck.

\--

It took forever for Jean to be found. The moon and stars had risen with such hope for him, even they seemed surprised to find him still in the same position hours later: curled up against the tree trunk, eyes closed and cheek pressed against damp bark. He hugged his knees and tried ignoring the roiling nausea building in his stomach. There was just something very, very viscerally unbearable about being left behind.

Jean wasn’t sure if this was more omega bullshit. Probably. Which reminded him of Bertholdt and his strange heat and what’d he said and it made him sicker, so sick Jean didn’t know why he didn’t just throw up right there. 

He tried thinking about sharp wood grain, rustling paper, and Shadis rapping the chalkboard during lessons. He tried thinking of sizzling omelets and embellished romance novels and his mother’s soft, omega smell. He tried thinking about Matthias Tchuberg and his minions, looming over him as they twisted his ears and shouted abuse until Jean would slink home in tears. He’d roll himself up in his covers like he was putting on armor and think, just wait, wait until I’m behind Wall Sina and I’ll be the one laughing at all of you.

Yet no matter how loud or hard he tried to think, nothing seemed to drown out the unstoppable wailing voice pleading for someone to find him and let him down, preferably Marco, because Jean didn’t like appearing weak in front of anyone unless they’d already seen him at his lowest, and he probably looked pretty fucking pathetic right now, thanks.

“Jean?” 

Speak of the devil.

Jean cracked an eye open and scowled down. Marco was tiny at the base of the tree, holding a lantern and bundled up in the trainee’s thick, warm cloak. 

“What took you so long?” Jean complained weakly. He was too busy being relieved. “If I come down with something tomorrow ‘cause of the cold, I expect you to take care of me.”

“I always take care of you.”

“You, Marco, are a lying liar who lies,” Jean said. “I clearly remembering you leaving me to die after the indigestion won out last summer.”

“You had us all help you steal a shipment coming out of the kitchens and then refused to share. And when I tried giving you some water, you tossed it back in my face and declared your royal highness above my pity. You deserved every minute of indigestion.”

Jean didn’t remember any of this shit. “Yeah, but you still left me.”

“For two hours.”

“Two hours of misery. Spewing everything out everywhere.”

“I know. Out of both ends, in fact.”

“Oh god,” Jean suddenly realized. “Did you have to clean me up? You did, didn’t you? Wow, that’s embarrassing.”

“I have truly seen it all,” Marco said, sounding way too pleasant. “You're lucky I have two baby sisters.”

Jean scowled, wanting to have the last word. Like hell he was letting Marco win this—rapidly deteriorating, obviously biased and unfavorably unfair to Jean’s dignity—conversation. Except Marco stopped being a little shit long enough to shoot out a wire and haul himself up to Jean’s height, landing so precariously Jean’s heart skipped a beat.

Jean reached out and clutched Marco’s cloak to keep him from falling backwards to his death.

“How’d you find me, anyway?” he said, hauling him forward and double-, triple-checking that he was fine. All while trying to play it cool, of course. “Where are the others?”

“Hannah and Franz told Shadis where you were,” Marco hummed, seemingly unaware of Jean’s fright. “It’s just me. Shadis didn’t want to waste manpower. You’re being punished for being stupid, though; the other trainees are off having dinner right now.”

Jean scowled, because that just figured. The world couldn’t gift him Marco and dinner at the same time, and while Jean appreciated Marco’s freckled presence, he actually needed food to live.

Jean’s scowl faltered when Marco laid Jean’s hands back into his lap. He then leaned back, untied his cloak and slipped it off completely. Marco draped it over Jean’s shoulders.

“…thanks,” Jean said stiffly, for once without a quip. He pulled the cloak tight around him. It was a warm reprieve from the cold that had been soaking into his bones for the last few hours; but most importantly, it smelled of Marco. At least, it reminded Jean of Marco’s blank, unpresented scent—just enough for him to find the cloak comforting.

Marco offered an arm with a quirked eyebrow. “Your highness.”

“Oh fuck you,” Jean spat, but let Marco wrap a warm arm around his waist anyway. His hold was strong, arm fitting neatly against Jean’s side like it belonged there, and that’s all Jean registered before Marco was swinging them both down.

They landed safely at the tree’s base. When Jean straightened from his landing crouch, he expected Marco to let go. Instead, the boy rose along with him, and there was a strange pause where Marco’s arm was still around Jean’s waist and Jean’s brain began to short-circuit. Even Marco knew that was weird, right? Jean knew it and was probably guilty of doing even weirder things, but that’s because Jean was an omega and he had an excuse.

Marco was supposed to be the sane one. Except Marco had always been weird, so now they were both weird and the world was doomed and Marco still confused the fuck out of him.

His friend finally took a step back and drew his arm away. Jean shivered at the loss of heat. “It’s ok, though,” Marco said, and Jean stared at him blankly. Marco seemed to realize he’d lost track of the conversation. “Dinner,” he clarified. “Connie and Sasha are going to save some for us when we get back.”

“I won’t thank them until I see it,” Jean grumbled, looking away. Suddenly, he didn’t want to see Marco’s face anymore. “Let’s just go.”

\--

“Are you wearing Marco’s cloak?” was the first thing Connie said when they sneaked back into the barracks. A few of the others boys swiveled their heads around at the commotion and Jean growled at them all. 

“Jean was cold,” Marco supplied, but Connie was too busy laughing to pay attention.

“That’s so cute! But man, you must be freezing. It’s okay, you don’t owe Jean any favors. You could have just left him cold for being a jerk.”

“What’ve I done to you, Springer?” Jean hissed, pulling the cloak tighter around himself because Connie was exactly the kind of troll who’d steal it from him just for the mayhem. Connie grinned at him.

“The sink incident.”

“You deserved it for getting suds in my hair.”

“The moustache fiasco.”

“That was between you and Eren!”

“You could’ve supported me, man!” Connie put a hand on his chest. “Right when I needed a brother, you turned your back. That kind of thing leaves scars, you know. Deep scars. So deep. I’m so sad.”

“You are sad,” Jean informed him. “Pathetic-sad. Loser-sad. Idiot-sad.”

“Hey, watch it!” Connie sniffed, flipping up the covers of his cot. He brandished a wicker basket. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, man. Not cool.”

“Thanks Connie!” Marco interrupted before Jean could say anything even more insulting, and plucked the basket from the boy’s hands. “You’re the best.”

Connie rubbed his nose and smirked.

Jean looked inside the basket. “What the hell? Why are there five cornbreads and half of a sandwich in here? And this apple looked like it got smashed on the ground.”

“Jean,” Marco chided, but Connie shrugged.

“We saved you guys a couple sandwiches, but Sasha got hit with the munchies like an hour ago? She stopped before she ate all of it, though,” he pointed at the half-sandwich. “Oh, and the cornbreads are from Reiner. He wanted to thank you for taking Bertholdt to the doctor earlier.”

“Huh,” Jean said, picking up a small cornbread. He noticed Connie’s judicious omission of the apple’s origins. “Where is Reiner, anyway?”

Connie gave him a disbelieving look. “Uh, where do you think he is? He practically razed the compounds trying to get to Bertholdt after the mission ended. I’d leave them alone for a few days, at least.”

“Oh. Ew.”

“What? No, not that—god, Jean, it’s Bertholdt’s first heat. I mean, Reiner’s really aggressive. I’d stay out of the way.”

“I’m an omega,” Jean reminded him, as if it’s the kind of thing people forget. Knowing Connie, though. “I’m like the complete opposite of a threat. Besides, I had to put up with Bertholdt trying to flatten me all day, I think I earned the right to come in and out of the infirmary as I please.”

Not that he wanted to. Jean suspected Harold would give him that same haughty sneer if he so much as stepped into the infirmary lobby and Jean couldn’t take it. Best to stay out until the orderly forgot.

“Your loss if Reiner rips you a new one. Though I don’t blame him for being all… weird. Must have been a shock with Bertholdt presenting so late,” Connie said, because he had the tact of a brick. “Wonder if it’s because of the… you know.”

“The what?” Jean said, and Connie gave him a shifty look.

“Well, they’re from Maria, aren’t they?” he whispered conspiratorially, leaning forward. “Nobody’s exactly sure what happened in the camps, but there were rumors that they used suppr—”

“Connie,” Marco interrupted, “Bertholdt’s already been through a lot, and he doesn’t need us speculating about what it was like after their village was destroyed. It’s not a story for them—they lived through all of it before coming here, you know?”

Connie had the grace to look ashamed of himself.

“Sorry. Just. Everyone’s been talking about it, and I guess I kind of forgot.”

“It’s fine,” Marco said, voice softening. “I’m just reminding you to be careful.” 

He didn’t look too upset, but Jean nudged him with an elbow anyway. Marco blinked and turned to face him, which was when Jean took the opportunity to stuff a cornbread into his open mouth. Marco’s eyes bulged as he flailed backwards, and Connie and Jean both fell over laughing.

Tension broken, it was easy to fall back to easy conversation. Jean graciously allowed Marco the rest of the cornbreads save one—he had, after all, saved Jean from a night stuck freezing in a tree—and spent a long moment working on his own meal. God, he was starving.

Connie swung his leg back into his bunk and continued reading the comic book he’d snuck into camp after their last supply run into town. After a long enough moment passed, he said casually, “Oh, and you owe me ten bucks.”

“What?” Jean swallowed. “Why?”

Marco tutted. Only Marco would actually tut. “You guys really bet on it? I thought we decided you were above that, Jean. It’s not very nice, you know.” He then graced Jean with a look he reserved for people who did horrible things, like set fire to puppies. Not that Jean wasn’t used to such treatment, but he usually knew what he'd done to deserve it.

“What? Bet on what? What are you talking about? What happened?”

“Eren’s team won,” Connie said, “because Eren used his omega wiles to steal like three flags before the mission was over.”

Jean remembered the bet now. “Holy shit. Really?”

“Yeah! I think Thomas convinced him that any skill that would help him fight titans was valuable or—or something like that, something that’d get Eren pumped up. And then Eren just turned on the omega look and guilt-tripped the other squad leaders into giving him their flags.”

“He convinced the others that Mikasa’s team had stolen their own flag,” Marco supplied. “He tried getting my squad’s, you know. Good story too. Mikasa took their flag to keep them from being a target. But Shadis would be angry if they went back empty-handed… if we banded together and gave him our flag as one, then he’d commend us for teamwork, right?”

“And then he’d run off after the squad gave him their flag,” Connie finished. He playfully punched Marco’s shoulder. “Good thing you didn’t fall for it, squad leader. That beta level-headedness is useful, yeah?”

Marco froze for half a second before relaxing. A total blink-and-you’d-miss-it. “There are a lot of good things about betas.”

“Like resisting omega wiles?”

“Stop calling it ‘omega wiles,’ Connie!” Eren suddenly burst out from the doorway. Behind him, Armin sighed and made no move to stop him as the boy strode right up to Connie’s bunk. “It was a completely valid strategy that achieved Shadis’ original goal of gathering the most flags.”

“Wow, big words,” Jean drawled. “Did Armin feed you that tagline?”

“Armin was in your squad, not mine,” Eren said, looking confused. Jean blinked. Eren frowned. Connie stared.

Marco finished the last of his cornbreads and reached into Jean’s pocket for a handkerchief. Jean ignored him, even when Eren’s gaze flickered down to where Marco hand disappeared into the depths of his right-hand vest pocket.

Jean sighed. “Fine, have your ten bucks, Connie.”

“You guys bet on me!” Eren practically shrieked. “What the hell!”

“Well I’m sorry I actually thought you’d keep your ass in your pants!” Jean snapped back. “I can’t believe you’d fall into omega stereotypes just like that! You make us all look bad!”

“Don’t group me with you,” Eren said, which made no sense because hello, they were the only male omegas in the barracks right now. Except Bertholdt. But Bertholdt had Reiner. “It was a tactical strategy.”

“I bet you liked it.”

“Fuck you,” Eren snarled. “If I can use it to my advantage, what does it matter? I bet you wouldn’t do it ‘cause you can’t control jackshit.”

“Ladies, ladies, please,” Connie soothed, “There’s more than enough of me to go around.”

They ignored him.

“It’s not control that’s the problem, it’s finesse.” Jean growled. “It’s like your brain thinks it can overcome any issues if it throws enough abuse at it. Something in your way? Knock it down. Need to grab some flags? Omega stereotypes, for the win! You’ve got such a one-track mind you forget the subtleties of a situation. I bet your next heat is going to throw you onto your ass.”

“You brought up heats first, not me.”

“If you can’t even manage to work through one while training, than you’ll never get to see a titan, much less kill one.”

“If you mention titans again, so help me god,” Eren snarled, because of course he’d focus on the least important part of the conversation. 

Jean bared his teeth. His exhaustion from the mission and the cold and this fucking argument jammed his self-control and oh, it felt good to go gold and let the omega-sense flood into him. He lurched forward and saw Eren’s own eyes burning gold in retaliation, meeting his aggression with aggression and—

“Stop it!” Marco’s hands suddenly wrapped around him, holding him back. “Jean, stop it right now!”

“Marco, let go!” Jean barked out. Below, he saw Armin grow a pair and hold Eren’s arm tight. 

“If Shadis catches you brawling again, your grades will be docked,” Marco tried to reason with Jean. Jean knew what he was saying was important, but frankly his brain was too overcome with KILL EREN MAKE HIM PAY feelings to focus on anything else. “C’mon, I know you can control it. Just. Pay attention to my voice, come on, Jean. Come back to me. It’s okay, you’re okay.”

The craziest thing was, it worked. Jean didn’t like listening to Mylius or Reiner or even Shadis boss him about, because he wasn’t anybody’s bitch. But Marco had always been able to get him to back off, if only because Jean trusted him not to abuse that power. Jean trusted Marco. Right.

He let out a deep breath. Marco seemed to notice the change, because he let Jean throw his arms off and jerk away. Jean might trust him, but he still had his pride. And it was downright embarrassing to be held back like a kid throwing a tantrum. Goddammit.

“Wow,” Connie said, as a living symbol from the universe that people had been watching them like entertainment. “Dude, was that an omega-fight? I thought those only happened in comics!”

“Shut up, Connie!” Jean snarled before crawling over the barrier separating Connie’s bunk from Jean and Marco’s. It wasn’t running away. It was… withdrawing into a more defensible position. He flopped into his cot and pulled the blanket over his head.

Behind him, he could practically hear the rumor mill coming to life. Eren was muttering and Armin was consoling him and Marco, Marco was crawling into the cot beside him and probably making sad faces at the lump of Jean sulking.

Jean’s stomach suddenly grumbled. Shit. Before he could further swallow his pride—oh god, it was the last thing he had left, don’t take it from him—he heard Marco awkwardly shuffle towards him.

Something dropped onto his blanket. Marco shuffled away. Jean waited a beat before deciding he had nothing to lose and peeked out from his shelter.

It was the half-eaten sandwich. Jean looked suspiciously at Marco, who had turned away on his own cot and was pretending to read a book. Because Marco knew Jean didn’t want him to look.

Marco was such a dork. 

Flushing red, Jean snatched the sandwich and retreated into his blankets again. He ate the sandwich slowly, savoring the texture of bread and cheese and lettuce and trying so hard to think of nothing in particular. By the time he was ready to come out of his self-induced exile, Marco had put away his book and was sleeping in his own cot. Jean stared down at the boy before making an awkward shuffle for the bathroom.

It occurred to him, much later, that Jean never took off Marco’s cloak. He slipped it back into Marco’s collection of things the next morning and spent so much energy pretending to act normal he almost sprained something in his brain. 

Marco didn’t say a word, but he did have the strange little smile he got whenever he was happy about something but trying really hard not to show it. Jean scowled whenever Marco beamed at him, but couldn’t keep off the pink flush that crept up his neck whenever he looked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A more training-based chapter this week with appearances from even more AoT characters. Next chapter is almost entirely omega-bio crap so it balances itself out in the end??? Ahhh.
> 
> Thanks so so much for the comments and support so far everyone! I love to hear what readers think is/is going to happen!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Have you thought of helping Eren during his heat?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the EreJean chapter mentioned in the tags. Jean has two explicit scenes with people who aren't Marco-- this is one of them. So... warning for that! I think it's important for Jean to experiment a bit so the omega body isn't so mysterious/unknown. It's all physical though, since Jean's heart (obviously) belongs somewhere else.
> 
> _Very brief summary at the bottom for anyone who wants to skip!_

 

5.

 

Jean nearly laughed himself sick when, only a month and a half later, Eren stank up the barracks with the clear and baffling scent of omega in heat.

“It hasn’t been three months yet!” Eren blustered from under two and a half layers of blankets. He had started flashing cold early in the morning and so Armin had given him his own blanket and Reiner had tossed him the half-ragged one that belonged to no one in particular. Eren had flushed when he’d seen that one—it smelled faintly like Reiner’s alpha scent, which Eren seemed to find relaxing and Jean found annoying—but had accepted it regardless.

Mikasa was going to pitch a shit fit.

“Maybe your heat cycle’s off ‘cause you just presented?” Armin suggested.

“Or you stressed yourself into it,” Jean added from his top bunk. “Seemed like even your own body can’t handle your eternal bitching.”

“Fuck you!” Eren snarled. He was nothing more than a mop of brown hair under his blankets. “Let’s watch you suffer the next few days, god knows your bitching is worse than mine.”

Jean rolled his eyes. Not that he wasn’t completely unaffected by another omega’s heat so close to him. It stung to see Mikasa come blazing into the barracks with nothing but Eren on her mind, but Jean was fast accepting Mikasa’s indifference. He thought presenting as an omega counted for something, but of course Jaeger had to go and show him up.

“Did she even know you were flirting?” Marco had once asked point-blank, after watching Jean sulk the rest of the day. Given Jean’s track record, it was a fair question.

“I could get down on my knees and stick my ass in the air, she wouldn’t even notice,” Jean answered, and that pretty much summed it up.

God, Eren didn’t know how good he had it. Everyone knew Mikasa was a breath away from presenting as an alpha—a powerful one too, with all the leadership and alpha sense abilities that came with it—and Eren just didn’t care? How the hell did he not care?

So Jean shouldn’t have been surprised when, three days later and almost forgetting Eren entirely, Mikasa cornered him after lunch.

“Have you thought of helping Eren during his heat?”

Jean practically spit out his water, he was so surprised. “What?”

“Helping him out. You’re an omega, you should understand. The first time it had been fine, but now….” Mikasa’s gaze shifted to the side for a second before snapping back to Jean’s undoubtedly mortified expression. “I can’t help Eren, as I haven’t presented yet. Even if I had, I doubt he’d accept it.”

“And you think he’d let _me_ …?”

“You’re an omega,” Mikasa repeated for like the millionth time. “It’s not uncommon for omegas to help each other out during the first year when no one else is presented. I’m asking you for a favor, Kirstein.”

“Well at least call me Jean,” Jean snapped, suddenly furious. If he didn’t have such a crush on her, he’d punch her. “And you’re forgetting, Eren and I can’t stand each other during heats. He’d probably claw my eyes out if I tried to get near him.”

“Don’t be dramatic. He’d do that to an incompatible alpha, but even incompatible omegas aren’t usually violent to each other during heat.” Mikasa looked away again, and Jean suddenly realized how nervous the girl was. Mikasa was nervous. There was something seriously wrong right here. “Look. I… I don’t know what to do. I don’t think it’s supposed to be like this, and if something’s wrong I’d rather have an omega look into it. It doesn’t count anyway.”

Right. ‘Cause at the end of the day, it was all possessive alpha bullshit, wasn’t it?

“You’re _what_?” Marco said when Jean ran the idea past him during lunch. “Eren will _skin you alive_.”

“Well I promised I’d _try_ ,” Jean hissed back. “What else was I supposed to do?”

“So Mikasa tells you to do something, and you just… do it. Do you even want to?” Marco said, looking… disappointed? Sulky? Jean gaped at him a moment, because what the ever loving fuck?

“It’s not because she’s an alpha, Marco! Christ, what do you think I went through with Shadis? I’m not going to jump every time an alpha says so,” Jean growled, because he shouldn’t have to defend himself to his best friend. Marco had the decency to look ashamed, which just made Jean feel irrational guilt for his outburst.

“Trust me, I don’t actually want to stick my—I don’t actually want to fuck him,” Jean amended, sitting closer to him to bring home his point. “But if Mikasa’s worried enough to ask me, something must be really wrong, alright? I should check it out. For, I dunno. Good karma or something.”

And as it was a day of insane lapses of judgment, Jean ended the conversation by running his knuckles across Marco’s nape. There were freckles there, too. Marco shivered reflexively, and Jean, upon returning to sanity, promptly ran out the cafeteria. _Because what the fuck._

He could either suck it up and go back, where Marco could either be a dick and ask him what was going on, or be an angel as usual and pretend Jean didn’t do something completely stupid—again.

Or he could go find Eren.

Who would probably bitch at him, but that just business as usual. Nothing new there. Not like this weird thing that was building between him and Marco, awkward and instinctual and terrifying because he didn't want them to change. He _liked_ Marco, and they were good together, and Jean was almost positive he was going to fuck up something between them soon.

...Eren it was.

There were isolation rooms set out away from the barracks, where alphas in rut or omegas in heat were allowed to camp out if the other trainees found their scents too annoying to put up with. Shadis disapproved of them, muttering something about forcing them to deal with each other’s cycles because, hello, titans won’t just let you wander off into some nice cabin whenever a heat or rut hit unexpectedly.

But it was Eren’s first _real_ heat and Shadis wasn’t that much of a dick. Jean didn’t know exactly what happened, but Mikasa had convinced him to let Eren bunk out in one continuously after the second day. The others hadn’t seen Eren since.

Jean knocked on the door. After an acute silence, he let himself in.

A wave of nauseating omega-in-heat scent swept over him. Coughing, it took way too long for Jean to locate the other omega once he staggered inside.

Eren looked _miserable_. Three days of heat had obviously taken its toll, given the tired rings under his eyes, the paleness of his face, the sheen of sweat visible even in the half-light of the isolation room. He looked so pitiful Jean couldn’t even muster up the strength to laugh at him.

Eren didn’t even deem him important enough for a response. He just lay there.

“Jaeger,” Jean said, leaning awkwardly against the nearest bunk. “Um. Mikasa wanted me to check up on you.”

“We need to work on your lies,” Eren muttered tonelessly. He stretched out his arms and legs and hissed, before curling into a ball.

“She wanted me to fuck you,” Jean said, deciding subtly would only be lost on Eren’s thick skull.

That got Eren’s attention. “ _What_?”

“Apparently, it doesn’t count because we’re both omegas.” Jean walked briskly up to Eren’s house before he could react. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Eren hissed. “It’s ten times worst than the first time, trust me.”

“I’m pretty sure omegas aren’t supposed to become crippled with heat,” Jean said. “Have you even left the room once since you came here? No? Don’t you think you should, you know. Go see a doctor?”

“I’m fine,” Eren snarled, “I can take care of it. Go away.”

“Well Mikasa asked me to come here and now I’m here. So either take your pants off or tell me some other way to help you.”

“Fuck off,” Eren was quick to scramble away. “God, what’s wrong with you? Mikasa tells you to come and now you do? Pushover bitch.”

“Marco’s already given me enough grief about that.”

“Figured he wouldn’t like you doing this,” Eren muttered, and Jean was one step away from throwing his hands up and walking out but Eren did actually look miserable and it wouldn’t have felt right. Eren was snappy because he was exhausted, in heat, and frustrated. Jean was snappy because he was being a dick.

Jean scrubbed his face. “No seriously, take your pants off. I’m not going to… to do anything, it’s like trying to get it up to a drowned kitten. Just tell me what’s bothering you and I’ll see if I have any suggestions.”

“Why would _you_ have suggestions?” Eren growled. “You haven’t even had your first real heat. And I’m not going to listen to you regardless.”

“You will,” Jean said, surprisingly calm, “because you’re desperate.”

Eren glowered at him from the cot. With obvious great effort, he finally turned onto his knees and slipped his pants off. The scent hit Jean like a brick to the forehead: sharp and sour like citrus, fresh like cut wood and the brief whiff of sickly sweets. It was nauseating. Jean winced and edged onto the corner of the cot. Slick was everywhere. It spattered down the inside of Eren’s thighs, soaked the seat of his recently vacated underwear and pants, glistened around his asshole.

“What are you, a water hose?” Jean said irritably, and Eren growled at him.

“If you’re just going to sit there making stupid remarks—”

“Who do you think I am? Why _wouldn’t_ I make stupid remarks, it’s what makes me _me_ —”

“Holy fuck, why do I still have a boner listening to your shit,” Eren smacked his head into the pillow. He did it two more times for good measure. “What do you want me to do now, omega expert?”

“What’s bothering you?”

Eren didn’t move for a good moment, face resolutely pressed into his sheets. Finally, he muttered: “I feel too empty. I can’t. God, this is embarrassing. I can’t come? Like, I’ve tried everything and it worked the first few days but at this point nothing works?”

“Does Reiner’s blanket help?” Jean asked, remembering the raggedy blanket they’d given Eren the first day. Eren’s face flushed red.

“At first,” he admitted quietly, like some dark secret. “’Cause of the alpha scent, you know? But I don’t think we’re super compatible or anything. It stopped working a while ago.”

Jean looked at the defeated slump of Eren’s shoulders. He looked at Eren’s ass. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“You haven’t tried fingering yourself haven’t you?”

“What? Yes I did—I mean. Well, I tried.”

“How could you _try_ to finger yourself?”

“I did, ok!” Eren turned his face back into his sheet. “But I couldn’t find… I kept poking around but I couldn’t find my e-entrance and then it started hurting so I gave up. Ok? Yeah, laugh all you want. I’m the omega that can’t find his own vagina, let me have it. I have a cock and I know how to—uh, to come that way, so that helped. But it’s not _enough_.”

Oh god. He was going to have to do it, wasn’t he? Marco was going to kill him. Just the thought of Marco’s disappointed frown made Jean want to chicken out, but Jean had agreed to help and he wasn’t going to back down—especially not in front of _Eren_. Bracing himself, Jean pressed his hand against the swell of the other boy’s ass. Eren froze.

“What are you doing?” Eren’s voice was very even.

“I’m helping you out.”

“I thought you weren’t going to fuck me!”

“I have fingers,” Jean said, sounding constipated even to himself, “and you’re distracted. I think being so frustrated is getting in the way of you finding the right spot. I can do it.”

Eren was silent for a very long moment.

“You can so no,” Jean said.

“I’m thinking.”

“Thinking awful hard.”

“Aren’t you taking advantage?” Eren sounded petulant. “I can’t help myself.”

“Bullshit,” Jean rolled his eyes. “We’re with Shadis together, I’ve seen your control. Heightened libido doesn’t reduce us to brain-dead animals. And I really don’t have any urge to fuck you for myself. It’s the… ah, the omega pack effect, I think. Biology makes me uncomfortable seeing another omega in distress and all that shit. And I don’t know if you realize, Jaeger, but you’re really damn pathetic right now.”

“Shut up,” Eren whined, but he shifted and raised his ass in the air. “Ok. Ok, fuck, I don’t care anymore. Do it.”

Jean was tempted just to go to town but Eren was stiff as a board—and not in a good way. He had no idea what he was doing—Eren was right, Jean hadn’t gone through a true heat yet and looking at Eren now kind of scared him, like will _he_ be like this?—so he thought about what _he_ would like in this situation. Fingers randomly jabbing in would have him rearing up like a wet cat. So he decided to go gentle, despite it being Eren under his hand. He circled a finger around Eren’s hole, the motion made smooth by the copious amount of slick there. Eren’s breathing grew more and more ragged the closer Jean’s finger came to his hole, applying increasing pressure until his finger was on the verge of dipping in.

“Just do it,” Eren finally exploded, and Jean pinched his thigh hard enough for Eren to yelp.

“Shut up,” Jean muttered, and then slipped the finger inside. Eren keened, arching his back at what must have been a poor approximation of what he really wanted. Jean spent a brief moment having a serious crisis, like, holy fuck he had a finger inside Eren Jaeger’s ass, what was wrong with this picture. But Jean had told Eren he’d do it, and so he would.

Eren was hot and soft and _tight_ around his finger, still tense despite—or because of—everything. Jean had—ugh, was he going to admit it? He was—he had fingered himself a couple times after presenting, and there was no way in hell this was going to feel good with Eren so tight. Jean used his other hand to massage his lower back, right above his ass, working the muscles there until the other omega slowly loosened around him. Not as much as Jean would have liked, but Eren was an impatient little shit because he growled and tried to jerk his hips. Jean used his free hand hold Eren down, stopping his movement. Eren snarled.

“If you don’t move in the next second, Kirstein, I swear to god I will claw your eyes out—”

“I told Mikasa you’d do that—” Jean stopped when Eren squeezed around him at the sound of Mikasa’s name, and wow. That was annoying. Jean rolled his eyes and began to pump his finger in and out, steady and easy. Eren made a muffled noise in the sheets and spread his legs wider, giving Jean full view of his cock bobbing between his thighs. Eren’s fist was clenched so hard under his chest it was turning white.

“You can touch yourself, you know,” Jean said helpfully. “Nothing stopping you.”

“Shit,” Eren breathed, trembling. Jean withdrew his finger completely and circled around Eren’s hole again, teasing the pulsing bud as it tried to clench onto nothing. Eren whined. He could see the indecision in the tension of Eren’s back, and though Eren’s scent did absolutely nothing to him, having the boy at his mercy did. He liked exerting control over the other omega, if only to make up for all the times he was such a little shit. A beat passed. And another beat. Jean could _feel_ the moment Eren realized he wasn’t going to continue fingering him unless he touched himself.

“Bastard,” Eren hissed. He finally unclasped his right hand and reached between his own legs. He swiped his fingers through the slick covering his thighs and grasped his cock, giving it a few strokes. The moment he did, Jean slipped his finger back in and Eren moaned. He began pumping his cock, obviously trying to match Jean’s pace but faltering when Jean slipped in a second finger and began thrusting faster.

“Not enough,” Eren finally growled after a beat spent breathing through his nose. “It’s not… shit, have you found it? Why are you…?”

“Stop being so impatient,” Jean snapped back. “God, I’m worried for the first alpha who mounts you. If you had your way, you wouldn’t even give them time to find your vagina and they’ll tear through your intestines with their dick—”

“That… is the opposite… of sexy!” Eren complained. He braced his left hand onto the bed and began jacking off at an intense pace. Jean couldn’t help but stare at the swollen head of his cock peeking out from the top of his fist, clear pre-cum bubbling at its tip. Eren was a decent size for a male omega. Not as a good or satisfying as an alpha, or even a beta, maybe, but Jean was sure anything would be better than his own fingers…. _No, no, no_ , what the fuck. _Focus_.

Trying to be subtle, Jean began to actively look for Eren’s entrance at every inward thrust of his two fingers. It wasn’t in the same place Jean’s was—his own was closer to his anal opening and relatively easy to find—and after a few moments Jean began to understand why Eren was growing so frustrated. He had the magical vaginal canal of Atlantis or something: Jean couldn’t find it for shit and he was pretty much unaffected by the copious amounts of pheromones flooding the room. An alpha would be so fucked.

Eren began making unhappy noises again, his hips jerking erratically. He was obviously trying to make himself come, but he seemed to have plateaud at an unacceptable high. Jean slipped in a third finger—wow, that was _tight_ —and Eren let out a sob, burying his face into his arms. Jean had to pause.

“Are you… are you crying?”

“Shut up,” Eren said, voice muffled. “shut up, shut up, shut _up_.”

“The doctors found your entrance the first time, didn’t they?” Jean said, letting frustration edge into his voice. “Do you have _any_ clue to where it is?”

“If I did, would you be here with your fist up my ass?” Eren shouted back. “I don’t _know_ , ok?”

“Deeper than where I am now?” Jean shot back, too wound up to fall for Eren’s goading. “Or not as deep? Is it on the anterior or the posterior wall? How close am I?”

“Uh—um—oh—” Eren rocked his hips at a particularly harsh thrust of Jean’s fingers. “It’s—it’s deeper than where you are now.”

God, Eren’s alpha will have to be seriously well-endowed. Jean dug deep, until his fingers were past the second knuckle. Eren was—Eren was seriously distracting, holy crap. He was shaking and sweating and smelled like a candle-shop, too strong and sweet at once, and Jean didn’t know what else to do but press his entire weight onto Eren in a bid to stop him from _moving_. Eren howled and thrashed, scratching Jean up his forearm until Jean managed to hook his free arm around Eren’s chest and trapped Eren between the bed and himself.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of Eren going completely batshit insane, Jean brushed up against a soft opening along the side of Eren’s channel. It was shallower than he’d expected, given the amount of time he’d spent probing Eren’s ass, but by this point he didn’t care. He thrust his fingers into the opening and felt Eren practically come apart beneath him.

“Jean,” Eren sobbed. “Jean, shit, that’s it, that’s _it_ —”

It felt really fucking weird to have Eren’s vaginal canal clench around him tight, over and over until Jean realized it wasn’t supposed to be doing that. Eren shook his head from side to side, dark hair wild against the sheets. Three fingers wasn’t enough, was it? Wasn’t big enough to simulate a knot.

“Eren,” Jean said. “ _Eren_.” He had to shake the boy’s shoulder to get his attention, and when Eren’s face tilted up his eyes were almost entirely black, ringed in brilliant omega gold.

Jean unhooked his free arm and guided the hand Eren had been using to jerk off—Eren protested with an unhappy mewl—to his entrance. It was already stretched red around Jean’s own fingers, but Jean pressed Eren’s hand against it anyway.

“W-what?” Eren finally managed to gasp. “No way—it won’t fit.”

“Unless I shove my whole hand up there, it’s not going to be enough,” Jean snapped. “And it’d be good for you to be able to find your own vagina next time, you know. Come on.”

Eren swallowed and closed his eyes. He shakily coated his fingers again in the copious amounts of slick running down his thighs and… paused. Jean sighed loudly against Eren’s back, before sitting up and slowly stretching his three fingers apart. Not too far apart, mind. Just enough to give Eren room to maneuver. The other omega yelped at what likely stung like hell, but wasted no time working his own fingers—two? Might be enough—into the small space Jean had allowed him.

“That.” Eren grimaced when he was halfway in. “That’s a bit. Too full. Need to adjust.”

“I need you press all the way in, Eren,” Jean said. “You need to press inside.”

“Stop bossing me around.”

“You were practically having a seizure a minute ago, you need someone to boss you around.”

Eren followed Jean’s fingers to his vaginal opening and, after only a moment’s hesitation, slipped inside. The moment they were in—and yeah, that was really tight, Jean hoped to god Eren wouldn’t forget where this place was the next time—Eren let out a short cry and went rigid, his vaginal canal clenching down _hard_ on both their fingers. Jean barely had time to process the new grip before Eren was coming in clear spurts, head thrown back over Jean’s shoulder and free hand gripping the sheets so hard they bled white.

In that moment, Eren was beautiful. Even Jean could see it, and it terrified him.

Eren seemed to take an eternity. He _was_ crying, the little shit, but with such naked relief Jean didn’t have the heart to goad him for it. When Eren was finished, he collapsed, exhausted, onto his now completely soiled sheets. Jean kept himself upright by the skin of his teeth, putting his weight on an arm and letting himself breathe. Well duh, he’d done most of the work. Keeping up with an omega was draining, even if he was an omega himself.

“You’re welcome,” he told Eren, even though he knew from Eren’s dopey expression that the boy had completely passed out from his orgasm. That, or three days of complete exhaustion. Both were distinct possibilities. It was probably better this way—they were still, after all, surly omegas with a history of squabbling. Without the haze of heat keeping Eren relatively complacent, he might’ve seriously clawed Jean’s eyes out the minute he came to his senses.

Jean winced, knowing he couldn’t put this off forever. Time to take the walk of shame. Jean sat up straighter and sighed at the sticky mess Eren’s slick had made of his trousers. Slipping his fingers out was a bit difficult, but other than Eren wrinkling his nose a bit, he was able to withdraw without much problem. He sniffed at hand and made a face. Holy crap, it smelled like Eren Jaeger.

 _He_ smelled like Eren Jaeger. It was disgusting. He needed a shower. And a new change of clothes.

He pulled a few blankets over Eren’s prone form—he wasn’t _that_ much of a dick—before stumbling out of the room. Alone, he finally let himself panic. Because _what the hell was that_. That… that wasn’t a normal heat, was it? Shadis would probably string up all the omegas if they were reduced into a sobbing puddle like that. Right?

Jean wondered if it was because Eren was a Maria kid. With Bertholdt presenting late and Eren going ballistic, maybe it really was… suppressants.

No, it was too dangerous to pin all of Eren’s crazy on some unknown Maria boogey-monster; Jean was certain at least half of his dense stupidity was inborn. Which meant there was a chance heats might actually be that bad.

Which was terrifying.

If _his_ heat was going to be that bad, Jean wasn’t sure what he’d do. He remembered curling up miserably in the infirmary that first time, wishing fervently for his mother. Or Marco.

God, he hoped Eren’s batshit insanity hadn’t passed along to him during their encounter because the minute he thought that, he was struck with an urgent need to find Marco and have him comfort him. To smile at him all easy-like, his warm chocolate eyes welcoming and understanding.

He was insane. Marco hadn’t even presented yet, and while it was comforting being around him, Jean would die or mortification before he even let slip his thoughts to his friend. Not that he wasn’t fucking up left and right already, but that was different than. You know. Intentionally going after him?

Jean rubbed his face and then immediately regretted it, because he just smeared more of Eren’s slick closer to his nose. Eren. God, this was all his fault, _that asshole_.

Shower first. Then clothes. Then, he’d deal with Marco.

 

\--

 

“I thought you weren’t going fuck Eren.” Marco finally said to him at ass-o-clock in the morning while Jean was doing his best to doze off into sleep. “Are you gay?”

“ _What_? No. What?”

“I mean.” Marco lapsed into an unhappy silence. “You don’t seem to like alphas much? And you… did things with Eren, who’s an omega, and you know I don’t care if…”

“Omegas sometimes help each other during the yearling period. Doesn’t make anyone gay. Just… we know what it’s like,” Jean explained, trying really fucking hard to focus on the creaking ceiling above him so he didn’t have to look at Marco’s face. “I. Look, you didn’t see how miserable he was. I don’t think you can… understand, not really, since you haven’t presented. How desperate it can get. If it was me, I’d want someone to help me, too.”

Marco didn’t say anything, but Jean could practically hear the weight of his earnest understanding bleeding across the space between their cots. “Alright,” his friend conceded slowly. “I don’t understand.”

“I wasn’t even doing a friend a favor,” Jean admitted softly. “Jaeger’s not my friend. But it would’ve been cruel to not try, when even… even Mikasa asked me to, and she knows Jaeger and I don’t get along.”

“Mikasa,” Marco said her name with feeling. Jean furrowed his brow.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Is this more of that alpha-dominance bullshit?” Jean hissed. “I told you—”

“But you like her,” Marco said, “which gives her control over you. Is it wrong to worry about her using you to do things you don’t want?”

That stung, mostly because it was true. Hell, even Jean knew Mikasa had been aiming to use him the moment she’d first approached. He just hadn’t given a fuck. Jean closed his eyes, feeling tired.

“Go to sleep, Marco.”

“You’re worth more than that, Jean.”

“I said go to _sleep_.”

“ _Jean_.”

Marco reached out a hand and placed it along the very edge of Jean’s blanket. Jean swallowed. Marco had acted strangely… normal all day, despite knowing for sure what Jean had done to get Eren to calm the hell down and stop causing Mikasa to look like she’d gut the first trainee to look at her the wrong way. It had been horrible. And this, whatever this was, was still worse than Marco shouting at him. Because Marco was showing him the sympathy and comfort Jean craved but knew he didn’t deserve.

Slowly, slow enough for Marco to move away, Jean lifted his own hand and pressed it against Marco’s. Marco squeezed and held on tight, even when Jean’s began shaking and didn’t stop for the rest of the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omegas can be gay (exclusively like other omegas) but it's only obvious after a year passes and they don't settle with a beta or an alpha. During this yearling period, anything goes between omegas since Alphas and betas don't present for another year and omegas are wary of having "adults" helping them.
> 
> _For those who skipped: Eren has his heat super early and is in so much pain Mikasa asks Jean to help him out. Jean reluctantly helps him (fingering) and then freaks out at how badly the heat affected the other omega. What if his own is like that too? Or is it because Eren is a Maria kid... because of the "suppressants?" He's shaken and goes to bed, where Marco holds his hand to comfort him._


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seemed like all he was was convenient dick these days. “Can’t you get some unpresented guy to help you…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second non-Marco explicit sex scene I mentioned. It's also the series only "het" sex scene (girl on guy) so if that's not your cup of tea either, than perhaps just read the summary at the bottom? But there's also a good bit of Jeanmarco in this chapter too so;;; aah, but wanted to give warning!

 

6.

 

Yeah, things were really weird for a while.

Eren alternated between pretending Jean didn’t exist to going from zero to sixty _will strangle you now, Kirstein_ for the first few days. Jean put up with what he considered the universe’s allotted time for awkwardness before he cornered Jaeger in the back of a shed and hissed: “Look, I know it’s weird, but if you don’t stop picking fights with me I’m telling Mikasa her little plan made you feel violated. And then she’ll shower you with sickening bouts of over-protectiveness and we’ll all be miserable. So just cut it out, alright?”

Eren Jaeger was not completely incapable of being reasoned with. That, or it was the threat of Mikasa looming over both their heads.

“I didn’t feel violated,” Eren finally said a few dinners later. He stood before the table Jean was sharing with Marco, Connie and Sasha, speaking quietly; but Jean could feel the audience all the same. His face burned. He had half a mind to tell Eren to find a better, more private location for this conversation, except he caught a glimpse of Mikasa boring holes into the back of Eren’s head with her eyes. Goddammit.

Eren himself looked like he wanted to be there as much as he wanted his tongue to be cut off. “Just. It’s really embarrassing, alright? Like, worst-thing-to-happen-in-front-of-sworn-enemy embarrassing. Can we just pretend it didn’t happen?”

“Way ahead of you,” Jean said, feeling relieved that Eren wasn’t about to go into a detailed rant about exactly what occurred. Connie and Sasha, fine, but no way in hell did he want Marco hearing any of it. “Now go the fuck away.”

Mikasa later found him practicing his punches with Marco and gave him a cool nod. “Thanks,” she said. That was it— _thanks_. Not that Mikasa was the wordiest of the trainees, but Jean had hoped to at least fall into her favor. Of course Eren overrode everything. When she walked off, the wind caused her hair to flutter.

“Are you okay?” Marco had to ask, because he had the crazy knack of hitting where Jean felt softest. Jean scowled and pretended he didn’t hear him, and Marco had enough grace not to push it.

Thankfully, the next few weeks brought with them such a whirlwind of training and exercises and more pointless, disastrous missions that the awkwardness was forced to vacate the area out of sheer lack of a space. There was something to be said about the forty plus trainees united in misery, studying until three in the morning in the common area for a test that would determine if their asses stayed or went in the corps.

Passing that test while trying to keep up with Shadis’s increasingly humiliating omega-sense training—and _god_ , would it never be over?—had Jean so high-strung, he almost bit the courier when she appeared by his shoulder one morning. He’d worry about acting like a stereotypical frazzled omega, except then he’d have to admit he _was_ being a stereotypical frazzled omega, and then the world would promptly cave into itself.

The courier stepped back and shoved a medium-sized box under Jean’s nose, a letter glued to its top. It was from his mother.

Jean didn’t like writing to his mom. He’d even spent the first few months of training ignoring her letters and gifts and completely refusing to write back, but after his dad had died… well, Jean wasn’t that much of a dick. Most of what he wrote was nonsense, like how yes, he was alive; yes he was eating her treats; no, she should not visit, why would she even suggest that, how fucking embarrassing.

When Jean had presented, he’d waffled for all of two seconds before deciding that he should write his mother letting her know, because if she found out he’d kept it a secret for even an instant he’d be in for it. Besides, it wasn’t as if _she’d_ been the one with a complex about his dynamic growing up.

_Mom. Finally presented as an omega. Looks like I did take after you after all. Don’t send anything. Jean._

It was strange that it’d taken two months for his mom to write back. She was usually all over his letters, writing back within a week and sending a pile of equally mixed useful and useless items despite Jean’s warnings not to.

So Jean had every right to eye the box with suspicion. It was, after all, suspiciously heavy. He waited until the had some downtime before heading to his relatively private bunk—which meant it was not at all, the military was the complete antithesis of privacy—and unfolded the letter.

_Dear Jean,_

_I’m so glad to hear you’ve finally presented! Of course, I wish you were home so I could see you through this stage of your life myself—_

Jean rolled his eyes. His mother always wrote no less than three times per letter that she really wanted Jean to come home, please, the military was dangerous and no place for her baby boy and Trost was better now, she swore.

— _because there are, simply put, some things only one omega can advise to another. I noticed the lack of omegas amongst your instructors. Now, I know you don’t like me going on and on, but here are a few tips I’ve learned over the years._

Oh god.

_First. There will be children who will make fun of you for being an omega, but any adult knows we’re as important as any beta or alpha. Hold your head high and don’t let them get to you. They’re just jealous you’ve presented first. My second piece of advice is to make sure you keep an eye out for a good, strong alpha._

Because his mother was obviously gunning for grandchildren. Jean didn’t have the heart to write to her about the mandatory military IUD placed into his ass. No need reminding her more of the military’s supposed faults.

_The year between your presenting and theirs, it’ll become easier and easier for you to sniff the alphas out. Be ready to pounce on him or her when that rut first hits! Now I loved your father, but sometimes I wished I was faster in claiming what I wanted as a girl._

Which was the closest his mother was going to get to admitting to Jean that his father had been a cold-hearted son of a bitch, but Jean didn’t exactly expect her to admit anything. She was his mother, for god’s sake.

_Now, the last thing I want to mention. Heats. Don’t put the letter down! It’s embarrassing, but it must be said: It’s no good to let your heat build up. Make sure to constantly seek relief; it’ll pass smoother that way. This is obviously easier said than done, especially in this time when the alphas haven’t presented yet. So I’ve decided to help as best I can._

_You’ve probably noticed that this letter took much longer to get to you than my other ones. It’s because I’ve spent the last month trying to find something I wished I had the first year I was an omega._

Jean continued reading with sinking horror.

_I’ve enclosed it in the box._

Oh god.

_Remember to clean it with soap and water._

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

_Also, change your underwear every day. Slick is easy to get out of clothing but the smell lingers. Come visit home soon. Love you, Mom._

Jean put down the letter. He looked at the box. He looked back at the letter. He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. He opened the box.

“Jean, are you ready for afternoon training?” Marco suddenly appeared behind him, and Jean fell forward onto his cot with a shout. The box tipped over and spilled out three lovingly wrapped treats, a box of colorful bandages, more stationary and—oh god, Jean _knew it_ , damn you Mom—a terrifyingly large glass dildo. They stared at it.

“Is that…?” Marco leaned over and _tried to pick it up_. Jean flushed red and slapped his hand away. Scooping up the dildo, he tried stuffing it back into the box and pushing it under his cot, except Marco was a nosy shit who wouldn’t let the matter go.

“I’ve only seen one of those,” Marco said matter-of-factly, grabbing Jean’s wrist before he could hide the box completely. “Some girl visiting in town was showing it off. Thought it funny to make fun of the betas who don’t know anything about omega heats or relievers. Anyway, they’re really rare. Your mom must have put a lot of effort into finding one. 

“Dude, it’s a piece of blown glass shaped to look like a dick. How rare could that be?”

Marco rolled his eyes. “Let me look at it.”

“ _No_.”

“Jean, stop being a baby.”

“I am not letting you look at my… my sex toy for your amusement, Marco! This is a violation of my privacy!"

“Maybe,” Marco conceded, making grabby hands at the dildo anyway. “But you’re curious too, right? Don’t you want to know how it works?”

The beginning of every raunchy romance novel ever. Jean was genre-savvy enough not to deem that with an actual answer, but the truth was that yes, Jean did want to know how it worked. Anything to prevent himself from writhing around like Eren during his next heat. But he wasn’t going to admit it.

Seeing an opening, Marco swooped in and snatched the dildo from the box before Jean could blink.

“Marco! Son of a bitch—” Jean threw himself on top of his friend and tried to wrestle the dildo away. Marco was using his slightly larger frame to his advantage, though, and hooked his legs over Jean’s to hold him down. Jean smacked him in the face. Marco tickled him under his armpits. When Jean doubled over laughing, the other boy pretty much laid on top of him so his full weight pinned Jean to the cot.

He raised the dildo up between them.

“Look,” he explained, tapping its base. Jean hadn’t noticed at first, but the swollen end of the dildo wasn’t actually glass. It was made of what looked like leather, and within the glass he could see a strange metal contraption wiring it to flared end. Jean jumped when Marco flicked some sort of switch at the base and the bulbous protrusion _deflated_. He pressed the switch again, and Jean watched with horrified fascination as the loose skin inflated again.

“I can’t believe my mom sent me this,” Jean muttered. He leaned back into the cot and surrendered himself to Marco’s weight because what else did he have to live for? Marco shook the dildo in his face.

“An inflatable knot, Jean,” Marco said. He sounded excited. “I told you these things were rare.”

“Alright, thank you very much genius. Now put the dildo down. People will think you’re going to try it on yourself.”

“It’s yours, though.” Marco said, because that was obviously the right response to that. “It’s probably unsanitary to share.”

“Oh my god,” Jean groaned. “Just. Just put it down. What the hell.”

Thankfully, Marco managed to stuff it into the box and under Jean’s cot before Connie burst into the barracks, generally flailing about while looking for a group to walk with to training.

And the rest of the day should have been fine. Normal. Completely predictable. Except Jean spent the next hour during training trying really, really hard not to imagine all the ways Marco could fit that dildo into his ass.

He never wanted to bang his head against a wall so hard in his life.

Because thinking of Marco with that dildo in his ass led to him thinking of the dildo in his _own_ ass, which led to Jean unhappily remembering the predicated date of his next heat looming ever closer. Omegas ran on heat cycles that hit every three months, give or take a few days. Eren was just a fucking special snowflake that had his birthday surprise early, to the misery of everyone involved.

Two months and eighteen days since he’d first presented. Jean tried hard to focus on punching at the right angle and got blindsided by Sasha’s next kick for his trouble. She whooped as he scrambled to his feet. That gave him… a week and a half, give or take, before the same fire that’d consumed Eren would come roaring after him.

But no, that was because Eren was a dumbass.

Jean got in a few jabs this time, and Sasha squawked when he knocked her to her knees. Like his mom said: the heat wouldn’t be too bad if he dealt with it regularly. Jean knew how to get himself off. His own fingers had worked so far, though even he had to admit they weren’t always enough, that he wished something larger would press into him and fill him up—and then his mind circled back to the dildo, and Marco, because his brain was as subtle as a bright red sign smeared across its face. Jean just wasn’t ready to deal with that yet. He couldn’t.

All he could do was imagine Marco moaning in his cot with one hand clutching the bed-sheets hard, the other reaching between his legs to better push the slick dildo into his reddened entrance and—

_Stop, stop, stop, agggh Jean Kirstein what is wrong with you_.

While he was obviously distracted by the graphic images bombarding his stupid teenage-brain, Mina Carolina managed to sidle up to him without him knowing. Only when Sasha waved at her happily—“Mina! Hey girl, how you doing?”—before being immediately distracted by Connie, did Jean realize Mina was still there. She looked expectant, as if she was such great friends with Jean and that was… weird.

Mina and he often paired off during their omega-training sessions with Shadis, but that didn’t mean they were friends; in fact, outside of flouting Jean completely at everything related to suppressing the omega-sense, Mina hadn’t left much of an impression on him.

She gave him a shy smile. “Hi Jean.”

“Uh,” he started. “Hi?”

“I don’t have a partner next round. Do you want to practice together for the next exercise? Punches, right?”

“Sure,” Jean said after running through all possible scenarios and concluding there was no way to turn her down without looking like a dick. Sasha had run off with Connie to the other end of the field. “Why not.”

This was a mistake. The first time Mina lunged at him and missed, Jean caught a whiff of her scent: candy-sweetness and burnt sugar and a kind of soft artificiality he was sure someone out there would like. He jerked back.

“Are you in heat?” he hissed. The irony of the situation was not lost on him. Mina had the gall to _shrug_.

“Shadis doesn’t expect us to take time off for it,” she said, going back into stance. “As long as I take care of it every so often, it’s fine.”

What she didn’t mention was how distracting _Jean_ would find it. She even managed to land a few solid punches to his stomach—“Shit! Ow, ow,” and “Oh god, are you okay, Jean?”—before Jean began to get used to the smell enough not to flail about uselessly. At least her scent was more tolerable than Eren’s, though that wasn’t saying much.

“Okay, I can’t keep it a secret. I totally lied,” Mina said after they were halfway done with their exercises. Jean was so busy concentrating on not being affected by her heat, it took him half a beat to catch what she said.

He narrowed her eyes at her. “About what?”

“Well, I did have a partner,” Mina said, pointing at Annie fucking Leonhardt tossing Eren onto his ass like a pro. “But I wanted to talk to you about something without anyone noticing.”

That seemed like a lot of unnecessary effort. “Okay. What?”

“Do you want to fuck me tonight?” Mina said, eyes still as wide and innocent as ever and _what_? Jean practically fell over backwards.

“Just because I helped Eren _once_ —” Jean whispered furiously once he regained enough composure. God, it was like he was the omega love-guru with these omegas falling all over him.

Mina put her hands on her hips. “Then you know how normal it is for omegas to help each other out during this time—how else are you going to find out what works for you? And I’m sick of my fingers. I’d like to try dick at least once, please.”

Seemed like all he was was convenient dick these days. “Can’t you get some unpresented guy to help you…?”

“He’d probably jam his dick up my ass, he’d be so clueless. C’mon, Jean.” Mina’s eyes turned pleading. “Look, you like Mikasa right? Yeah, I don’t have an alpha clit, but I’ve got everything else. Don’t you want to try it with a girl at least once?”

Well technically— _very_ technically, Eren didn’t fucking count—Jean hadn’t tried it with anyone. But she didn’t know that. She was looking at him expectantly, entire being seeming to urge him to say yes.

And the thing was, Jean knew he should say no. He couldn’t explain it exactly—all his excuses sounded too flimsy to hold up to Mina’s torrent of rationality: He didn’t want his first time to mean nothing? Well he didn’t want his first time with whoever he cared about to be a disaster, either, and that would mean he’d have to get practice from _somewhere_. The thought of another omega’s scent disgusted him? Unfortunately, his and Eren’s experience had already let that ship sail, and Mina was right when she said omegas helped each other. He wasn’t attracted to her? Well, that wasn’t really a lie, but it wasn’t the truth. Mina was pretty enough, with dark hair and big, soulful eyes—two things Jean had always been a sucker for. Her personality was a bit bland, though, but who cared about personality when it came to a quick fuck?

He knew he should say no, but a tiny part of him really wanted to say yes. Because yes. Jean actually was curious. He was curious about a lot of things.

Girls, their bodies, and heats. Not to mention that Mina was apparently the queen of all “normal” heats. Nothing like Eren’s crazy animalistic fuckfest—if he helped, he’d see how a heat was supposed to really go. What it would really be like before it was his turn.

And wasn’t this the perfect gift, dropped serendipitously into his lap?

Seeing as Mikasa wasn’t asking him this time, this was completely his choice. Yeah, an even tinier part of him really wanted Marco’s permission first; but Jean was well-versed in squashing that part of him by now and did so easily. He was calling the shots here.

“Ok,” he said before he could chicken out. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Great!” Mina beamed. “I’ve got the keys to one of the isolation rooms for later. Meet me behind the cafeteria after dinner, okay? We’ll have some fun.”

And then she winked.

Oh god, what was he getting himself into?

 

\--

 

Even though Jean chanted to himself that he wasn’t going to tell Marco, under any circumstance, because this wasn’t any of his business, _don’t tell Marco_ —he went ahead and told Marco anyway. Because Jean was a masochist.

“Oh,” Marco said. “Really?”

“Yup,” Jean feigned nonchalance and wrapped a hand around his friend’s shoulder. Marco didn’t seem as pissed off as he was about the Eren incident, but there was still a little furrow between his eyebrows. “I mean, even my mom thought so, right? Better know my own body before the alphas come out of the woodwork. Your bites actually stick.”

Jean didn’t realize he said ‘your’ until it was out of his mouth. He then panicked, because he meant a general ‘your,’ not a specific ‘your,’ and hopefully Marco didn’t take it the wrong way.

Marco didn’t seem to notice. “I guess it makes sense, with no one else presenting for at least half a year. You want to practice for Mikasa, right?”

What was with everyone and Mikasa today?

“Dude, I was just thinking of getting laid.” Jean leaned against Marco so his forearm was pressing against Marco’s exposed nape. Marco relaxed at the gesture, and Jean inwardly cheered.

“Well when are you planning to be back?”

The question caught Jean off-guard. “What? Um. I don’t really know. Why?" 

“I thought we could review some notes for tomorrow’s quiz,” Marco said. “I was wondering how long I should stay up waiting.”

Jean should tell Marco to forget it and go to sleep. But the words made him warm to his toes, like he was a shell filled with goo just threatening to drip out of him, and Jean couldn’t do it.

“I’ll try and be back before ten,” Jean said. He squeezed Marco’s shoulder—he hadn’t let go, why hadn’t he let go?—before putting his hand back into his pocket. “Alright, I need to go on kitchen duty with Sasha. See you later, okay?”

“Go get her, tiger,” Marco said with a thumbs-up. He was such a dork. Jean kicked him in the shin just for lowering the overall coolness of the room and walked off, Marco laughing behind him.

Jean was in high spirits for a long while after that. He pretended his impenetrable cheer was due to him about to get laid for the first time—and not because Marco’s last comment was basically the permission that _really fucking annoying_ part of him craved. Sasha accused him of stealing food because only a full stomach would make someone so happy. This somehow ended in a potato-peel and cheese-rind food-fight, which then led to a strict talking-to from one of the beta instructors and an hour in the stables.

By the time he met Mina after dinner, however, Jean had come down enough to feel nervous again. Did he have to bring anything? Lube or… that dildo his mom gave him… ugh no, scratch that last thought. It felt wrong to bring it to something casual like this.

By the time Mina pushed him into the isolation room and onto the bed inside, he was freaking out.

“Should I put them back?” Mina asked when he spent too long gaping at her chest. Her breasts were perky, round and tipped with rosy-pink nipples; Jean would be interested, if exposing her skin to the air hadn’t also ramp her scent up to a hundred. It was like he was being smothered by a cloud of teeth-aching candy, and Jean couldn’t get into it.

Mina unbuttoned the rest of her uniform and wriggled out of her pants. The little shimmy she made against Jean’s lap finally stirred some interest, and by the time she was completely nude he had started to harden up. She palmed him through his pants.

“Look—ah, I’m going to warn you, I might lose control a bit?” Mina slid her hands up his chest before pulling off his jacket and shirt. He raised his arms obediently. She yanked his pants down to his knees, no fanfare or anything. “Heat makes us all a bit crazy at times. The trick—hm—the trick is to let the crazy out in short, concentrated spurts. Haha, sorry, bad word choice. I mean, I’ll be taking what I want, okay? Just let me know if I do anything uncomfortable.”

Mina dipped her hand between her thighs and gathered a dollop of slick in her palm. She flicked him a shy smile before putting her slick-shined hand back on his dick, skin-on-skin. Her rhythm was kind of off, even after Jean gave her a few encouraging tips, but her enthusiasm was admirable. With her hand stroking him and the rest of her straddling his lap, taking control—Jean felt pretty good. Weird and a bit put off by her scent and still freaking the fuck out, but good.

Realizing he should probably do… something, Jean decided to take the most obvious route bobbing in front of him. He cupped one of Mina’s breasts and thumbed the nipple curiously. Mina let out a tiny moan and arched upwards into his touch. It was softer than he thought it’d be and strangely warm against his palm. The more he lightly fondled it, the more Mina’s pleased gasps puffed in his ear, the more he could dig its appeal. Breasts were great. Apparently his dick agreed with him, because he was getting harder now, arousal cutting through that wall of candy-scent like a knife through butter.

Mina, unfortunately, seemed to disagree. “Shit, you’re not hard enough. Sorry. Impatient. I’m—ah, I’m going to try sucking you, okay? See if this works better.”

Jean blinked, but her hands were off of him before he could say a word. She climbed down him until her pink lips were so close to his cock, he felt her breath on his shaft. He looked down at the crown of her head. One beat. Two. Mina just… frowned at it, and the longer she stared the more self-conscious Jean felt. Not that he wasn’t already feeling on the spot—could anyone take “not hard enough” and _not_ feel like a disappointment? He began to flag. Mina yelped and shook his dick like she was trying to resuscitate it.

The image would be hilarious if it wasn’t so deeply mortifying.

“Oh my god,” Jean said, flushing deep red. Shit, this was. Weird. Too weird. He scrambled up onto his elbows and looked away from Mina’s likewise guilty expression. “Look, you don’t have to if you don’t want to….”

“No! I mean… I just need a second.”

“Seriously,” Jean said, pulling away. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but Mina grabbed his hip and whined before he could get far.

“Jean, c’mon. I just. I can’t let it get too bad, okay? I’m getting too close.”

Jean scrubbed a frustrated hand over his face. He knew what he was getting into before coming here, but being reminded that he was being used as a living dildo? Not exactly sexy. But this wasn’t about sexy, was it? It was about Mina’s heat.

And Mina needed him to be hard. Annoyance surged through him. _Fine_. He knew the best way to get himself rock solid. Jean cleared his throat. “Do you have lube?”

Mina sat up on her knees and spread them apart, too eager for Jean’s brain to catch him. Jean blinked at the slick dripping down her thighs. Okay. He can work with that. Trying not to look like he was floundering, Jean ran a finger between her legs. The folds of her pussy felt strange—soft and wet and ridged like petals—and he couldn’t help but dig a bit deeper out of curiosity. Mina moaned and suddenly thrust her hips down on his finger, forcing it deeper than he’d intended and scaring the crap out of him.

He jerked his hand the wrong way and almost fell onto his side. Mina yelped, flailing, and it was an awkward two seconds as she tried to reorient them without getting Jean to dislodge his finger. “Sorry,” she whimpered, and there must be something wrong with Jean’s head because she was clenching down around him in a familiar way and all Jean could think was, _Thank god, something familiar._ “Just. Be fast, please.”

He withdrew his sopping wet hand and, ignoring Mina’s curious glance, reached under his thighs. The angle was weird with Mina on top of him, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out how to finger himself while lying on his back.

His dick might have had its interest peaked, but his ass was harder to fool. Jean winced when he curled a finger inside. Mina’s slick helped, but he was still painfully dry. Arching back, Jean closed his eyes and thought of the smell of soap and water and nothing in particular. Not Mina’s candy-store scent. Something more comforting and familiar to ground himself in.

Once Jean relaxed enough, he swirled his fingers around his entrance before dipping in again. He was wetter now, making it easier to pump a finger in and out and _oh_. That was just a taste, but it felt good. He curled his free hand into the bed sheet and spread his legs wider. Jean normally liked to take his time here, but Mina had said _fast_. So he added second finger and winced at the tight squeeze.

Mina, impatient, spread her legs and slid down so she was more fully sitting in his lap. He cracked open an eye and saw her desperately thrusting three fingers into her pussy, breasts bobbing up and down and looking completely caught up in herself. Literally. Oh god, Jean had to stop it with this idiocy, it wasn’t making the situation less awful.

He went back to scissoring his fingers—that _burned_ , fuck, but he liked the fullness, so it wasn’t a complete loss—and thought again of warm hands brushing against his arm, stroking down to his waist where they’d rest against his hip like they belonged there. Thumbing little circles in the divot of his hipbone while a cock rubbed wetly between his ass cheeks. Brushing against his entrance—dripping with slick, like he was begging for it—and pressing just hard enough to dip the very tip in. 

Jean added a third finger once he was wet enough, and gasped at how much he liked the stretch. He was getting into a rhythm he was used to now: with every thrust of his fingers, he grazed the entrance of his vaginal canal just enough to shock him with how scary good it felt. He let his free hand go of the bed sheets and grasped his now hard—and okay, Jean could admit he wasn’t really hard before—cock and giving it a few sharp strokes.

Mina seemed to pick up on this new development, because right when Jean began to circle his cock with a slicked-up thumb, she batted both his hands away and shifted to straddle his lap. Jean had a moment to register her scent—thankfully, he was too far gone to be deterred by it this time—before she lowered herself down and bottomed out in one sweep.

It felt amazing. In fact, it was probably the best thing he’d felt from the start of this painfully awkward fiasco: the clench of her vagina around him was so strange and new and good it left Jean gasping. She was tight. And really hot, Jesus Christ, clenching all around him. Mina didn’t wait for him to adjust either. She grasped his shoulders and began riding him hard, slamming herself onto his dick so violently Jean thought she was going to sprain something. The zero to a sixty shift had Jean forgetting all about the empty protest inside of him, like, this was new and nice but where were the fingers? But. _It felt really good to be inside her_.

“Jean—wow, it’s hotter than I—than I thought,” she moaned, breath puffing against his neck like staccato. “It’s weird. But. Good? Ha, ha. C’mon, move your. Your hips. Hm.” She mouthed his jaw when Jean grasped her hips and tried actively thrusting into her. Their rhythms were off, but Jean still spent a few more minutes scrambling to keep up in a messy, honest-to-god earnest fashion. It was awkward and frustrating—what else was new?—but felt better than Mina’s messy hand job, so Jean counted it as a win.

On the downside, Mina kept peppering his chin and neck with kisses, which made Jean increasingly uncomfortable. Not enough to stop fucking her, but enough to be constantly pulled out of the zone. Even a razor’s edge from orgasm couldn’t stop him from thinking how _fucking annoying it was_ and—

One of her hands scrabbled over his shoulder and clenched the nape of his neck.

Everything screeched to a halt.

Jean jerked away so violently, Mina yelped and almost fell out of his lap. She might as well have, because it was like someone had dumped ice-water on to his dick and then shoved a few ice cubes up his ass for good measure. Jean’s lip curled into a snarl before he got a hold of himself.

Mina frowned, shaking his shoulder. “Jean? What’s the matter?" 

“Sorry,” Jean blurted out. His nape smarted with _wrong-wrong-wrong_ feelings, and suddenly he didn’t like her touching his arm, or the way her thighs pressed around his, or where they were connected. He didn’t even like how she smelled. He wanted her _off_. Jean yanked her off of him—wincing at the drag of her vagina around his now completely uninterested cock, sorry—and pushed her aside, too unsettled to care about finesse.

“Jean, what the hell!” Mina rolled back onto her side easily, looking annoyed. Jean stumbled off the bed and stared at her warily, the hair on his arms raised. But she was still thumbing her clit, so close she probably wouldn’t even give a fuck if he’d tossed her out the window.

Shit. Jean wanted to leave and curl up in a corner, but the rational part of him knew that was would be insanely rude. Even for him. Mina was in heat. She needed relief. Jean was supposed to help provide relief, except they’d been kind of fucking up since the get-go and now he was so uninterested he could have been in a lineup during morning training.

He had to help her. He promised he would, and he wasn’t going to chicken out. He put up with Eren fucking Jaeger, Mina should be nothing.

Fingers. He had fingers, right?

Jean looked at his fingers. Looked at Mina, who’s expression grew more and more concerned despite practically having her entire fist up her pussy.

He took a step towards her, and. Her smell. It _grated_ on his nerves.

He couldn’t.

“Jean,” Mina shouted when Jean frantically leaned down to pick up his shirt and pants and jacket. She didn’t stop fucking herself, but Jean didn’t blame her with her heat. He tugged on his clothes as she tried to sit up on her knees. “Jean, I’m sorry. Look, I didn’t know yours was so sensitive—we’re both omegas, it’s not that big of a deal—”

“Sorry,” Jean managed to mutter, before he turned tail and fled.

He went right to the showers, but it didn’t help at all. It just made him wet, frustrated and nervous: he’d tried jacking himself off in a half-stall, just to prove he could. He couldn’t. Touching himself filled him with such repulsion he had to double-down on scrubbing his skin to avoid puking.

Maybe this was karma. He _had_ just left Mina to fend for herself, after all. Jean was a dick.

A limp dick.

Admitting defeat, Jean slunk back to the barracks damp and smelling less like Mina—but still enough to have him bristle. He tried not to catch the attention of the boys playing cards in the common area as he snuck in; less ammo for the gossip mill to pummel him with.

His stupid omega-sense roiled under his skin, smarting and hissing and generally acting like a frazzled cat. Jean got the impression it disliked being so rapidly yanked from nothing to everything as he did, and having them both sore at the world was quickly feeding a migraine threatening to explode behind his eyes.

Jean needed sleep.

Unfortunately—fortunately?—he found Marco instead at their bunk. He was looking over a stack of notes and looking so wholesomely un-fucked up, Jean wanted to stab him. Or hug him. Both.

Marco took one look at him and frowned. “Jean? Is everything okay?”

Jean didn’t say anything. He crawled into his cot and pulled his blankets up to his chin.

When Marco wouldn’t stop staring, Jean was forced to comment, “There’s nothing for me to say.”

“Wow, that’s. That’s serious. Holy crap, did something bad happen? Were you violated?” Marco’s eyes narrowed in an uncharacteristically aggressive glare. “Tell me if you were violated, Jean. I’ll fix it.”

“What? No!” Jean shook himself out of his sulk to stare at Marco disbelievingly. Marco wasn’t buying it though, and he proved it by crawling over to Jean’s cot and towering over him. Like that was supposed to make him feel safer, the idiot. “Just. It was real awkward, man. So awkward. I’m-going-to-die-tomorrow awkward.”

“Oh,” Marco’s expression cleared. He leaned down onto his elbows so he was more level with Jean. “Well, it’s not like awkward can actually kill.”

“No, but Mina can,” Jean moaned. “Shit, I—I messed up big time. I ran away.”

“You what?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jean said quickly. He rolled over onto his side, facing away from Marco. “Ugh. Worst first time ever.”

Marco was silent for a beat, but even without looking Jean could sense the idiot hadn’t moved an inch. After what Marco obviously deemed a sufficient amount of sympathizing time, he said, “Do you need water?”

“I’ll throw it back in your face, royal highness style,” Jean informed him honestly. “But. Um.”

Marco waited patiently.

“Can you lie down next to me?” Jean’s voice was quiet. He wanted to take it back the moment it came out of his mouth, especially when Marco’s expression turned considerate.

“If I pull my cot over, we can lie side-by-side,” Marco muttered almost to himself. “Hold on a moment." 

He shuffled away and came back a moment later, cot dragging behind him. He lined the cots up snug against each other and settled in beneath his own blankets, facing Jean expectantly. This close, Jean could see the faint freckles on Marco’s neck, trailing up his chin to the spattering on his cheeks. He could feel Marco’s presence relaxing his broken edges, until things didn’t hurt so keenly anymore. Marco was smiling.

“This good?” His brown eyes practically gleamed with sincerity. 

Jean took a deep breath and let relief wash over him; the actual outdoors hadn’t done much to clean the cloying scent of Mina from his nostrils, but Marco’s scent cut through it easily. His strange, un-scent that still affected Jean. Something deep within his chest loosened the longer he breathed, and Jean let his eyes flutter shut.

“Yeah,” he murmured, grateful. “That’s good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marco's not actually threatened by either Eren or Mina (omegas)-- what got him so jealous before was Jean's submission to Mikasa (one of the strongest alphas-to-be in camp.) Jean, of course, is oblivious as usual ;)
> 
> _Summary for those who skipped: after awkwardly deciding to pretend EreJean didn't happen, training goes on as usual. Jean receives an embarrassing "omega-only" letter from his mom and also a glass dildo that he tries to hide. Later, during training, he's approached by fellow omega Mina and asked if he can help her during her heat. He agrees. Unfortunately, their encounter is more than weird (he's not that sexually attracted to her) and comes to a screeching halt when she grasps his nape. He flees mid-scene and heads back to the barracks, where a sympathetic Marco agrees to pull their cots side-by-side to comfort him_


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Whatever dude,” Connie shook his head. “Though you do realize if it wasn’t a rebound, then it was for real, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first Jeanmarco smut chapter. And the angst. And plot??? It's a value meal!

 

 

7.

 

Trust the universe to bite Jean in the ass at his lowest.

He should’ve fucking known better, but Jean had forgotten about his libido after locking it shut and throwing the key out the window. He just wanted to sleep.

But a man’s sexual experience was not meant to come to a screeching halt right before orgasm. So while Jean went to bed feeling like it’d take a kilometer-long rope to drag his libido kicking and screaming out from the well inside his chest; he woke up in a horny half-daze so warm he felt like he was going to melt.

He wasn’t sure if it counted as waking up, either. There seemed to be no definite break between dream and reality; in fact, he supposed he might still be dreaming with the haze his brain was in. He was warm for sure, pressed up against his own personal hot water-bottle. One arm was curled around a narrow waist and his feet were tangled together with someone else's. The knees were a little too bony but still nice. Safe.

Jean cracked an eye open. Some time during the night, it looked like he rolled off of his cot and onto Marco’s. He’d brought his blanket with him, and so they were extra toasty cuddled beneath them both. Marco was warm and pliant in his arms. Jean decided he liked this.

He nuzzled into the crook of Marco’s neck, inhaling. Jean picked up faint traces of some spice. Cinnamon? He pressed a small kiss on Marco’s jugular and felt his pulse against his lips.

Marco’s hand, which had been lying loose over Jean’s shoulder, twitched. Jean kissed his neck again, and then a second time when the other boy swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed. His freckles scattered up that long expanse of neck and congregated where Marco’s scent gland would be when he presented. Jean tilted his head and sucked lightly there, focusing on how Marco _smelled_ —like nothing, mostly, but still enough to keep Jean wrapped up in his warm bubble—and how Marco _tasted_ —salty like sweat, but also sharp. Familiar.

Shuffling closer, he accidentally brushed his erection against Marco’s thigh. Jean broke his kiss off with a small gasp. He couldn’t help bucking against the other boy—the delicious drag of his cock against warm heat sent tingles up Jean’s spine—and buried his face where Marco’s neck met his shoulder.

Marco suddenly went rigid beside him.

“Jean,” he whispered, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Hmm.”

Jean soothed the muscles of Marco’s back under his palm while slowing his hips down into a lazy rock. He ghosted his touch down the dip of Marco’s elbow, jutting hipbone and the slight curve of his ass before running his hands all the way back up and around Marco’s neck. Marco’s hand pinched Jean’s nape as if trying to distract him, but _oh_. Jean arched into that touch. Forget thrusting against Marco’s thigh; _that_ send such an electric spark down his back Jean felt electrocuted.

“ _Jean_ ,” Marco said insistently, like he disapproved. But Marco was being a lying liar as usual, because he then let go of Jean’s neck and wrapped his arm fully under his shoulder blades. Marco’s thumb caressed the groove under the bone. “Jean, stop it.”

“Don’t want to,” Jean whined. Warmth built inside of him, running down his legs and curling into his toes. He liked having Marco pressed so close he felt his every tremble and breath. He liked the curve of Marco’s own erection against his hip, fiery hot and patient. Unmoving, despite how it beat in time with Marco’s heart against Jean’s chest.

Jean played with the edge of Marco’s shirt before slipping his hand beneath it. He ran his fingers along the dimples right above his ass.

“Jean, seriously—”

“Guys,” Connie groaned from the next bunk over, voice sleepy and irritable. “It’s like, five in the morning. Shut _up_.”

That was weirdly not dreamlike. Then again, some part of Jean knew that nothing about this was dreamlike, that the Marco shivering underneath his hand was too real and warm to be imagined. He ignored it. Marco opened his mouth, so obviously intent on apologizing—or scolding Jean, which Jean hated—that Jean wanted to shut him up. So he did. He leaned up and pressed his mouth to Marco’s in a real kiss, all wet and slow and—and wow.

Shit.

Jean woke up.

He had half a mind to jerk back in a panic, but then Marco fucking _melted_ against him. Reached up to cup the back of Jean’s head while he kissed back, licking Jean’s bottom lip before slipping his tongue into his mouth. It was sloppy and a bit inexperienced—and Jean loved it. He scared himself with how much he loved it, how he couldn’t stop himself from continuing the kiss despite being awake enough to know he should stop it. Marco tasted like morning breath and too much spit, but still enough like him for Jean to feel warmth dripping out of his chest and he should stop it. Stop. Right now. This was a bad idea, such a bad idea, but he couldn’t stop and _Jean was fucking losing it._

“Jean,” Marco muttered softly in between kisses, like dropping a breath, “ _Jean_.”

He pulled Jean flush against him, thumb soothing the nape of his neck and sending waves of pleasure down Jean’s spine. Jean groaned and pressed their foreheads together. Breathed the same air as Marco. Felt Marco’s erection brushing slow against his hip.

Jean hadn’t stopped grinding against him. In fact, he practically forgot about it as they kissed and kissed—until Jean realized he was close. Like really fucking close, and the hot mess inside his chest must have distracted him big time because how could he be so close without him noticing? He clutched Marco’s sleeve and broke their next kiss, turning his head to pant harshly against his shoulder. He was getting spit all over his friend’s collar, and—and shit, he was practically wetting his pants with slick, too, how did he miss that? Jean was falling apart in Marco’s arms and would’ve been horrified if it wasn’t _Marco_. Marco would catch him.

“I’m gonna,” he breathed softly, his grinding becoming more erratic. He twisted his head from side to side. Marco tightened his hold around Jean’s waist and leaned down to kiss his temple.

“It’s okay,” Marco murmured, rubbing his sides. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. Let go, Jean. C’mon.”

Marco had him at “I’ve got you.” Jean tensed and tried not to cry out too loudly when he came hard. So hard that it was more than the clear fluid now soaking the front of his pants—he felt it _inside_ , too. Jean buried his face into the crook of Marco’s neck as his vaginal canal clenched around nothing, again and again until he rode his orgasm out.

When it was over, Jean felt bone-tired. Run down by a wagon. Half-dead. He just lay there for a few moments, panting slightly and letting the sweat cool on his skin. Sleepily, he tilted his face up and kissed Marco’s jaw.

Holy crap. That was…

…probably the worst idea he had in his life, except the post-orgasm high kept him from mustering even a shred of panic. Later though. He’s going to panic later.

Marco’s erection brushed his hip. Suddenly, his thoughts were derailed with how much he wanted to slip his hands down those ridiculous pair of red polka-dot boxers Jean had once begged Marco to throw away, stroke up his shaft and press under the head poking out from the foreskin. You know. Touch it.

Alright, he wanted to do a lot more than touching, but it was a good place to start.

Jean snaked a hand towards it, but Marco batted him away. Jean narrowed his eyes up at him. If he wasn’t so sleepy right now, he’d shove Marco onto his back and stroke his dick all he wanted—but he _was_ tired. And blinking up at his friend, Jean noticed that Marco’s expression was… strange. When he reached for Marco’s dick again just to be a little shit, he could have sworn he saw a flicker of fear pass over his friend’s face before it cleared into a more familiar disappointing frown. And another batting.

“ _Jean_.”

“Hey, I try to be fair. Your loss, dude.”

His omega-sense whined at the rejection, but his omega-sense was being a greedy bitch today. And if Marco wanted to suffer with blue balls, then that was on him. Settling back down, Jean briefly considered changing out of his pants but decided what the hell. Training started at seven, which meant they only had another hour before they had to get up, get ready and make a dash for breakfast.

Probably with dose of a healthy—read: _huge_ —freak-out over what the hell had just happened. Is happening. Right now, with Marco’s dick hot against him, and oh god. He’s gone off the deep-end, hasn’t he?

The disaster with Mina has driven him into some ridiculous hallucination. He’s probably lying curled up in the fetal position on the isolation room floor, Mina trying to ride him through his coma...

Marco’s breath suddenly warmed his cheek. His arm was still curled around Jean, welcoming despite Marco’s mixed signals. Jean scowled. God, couldn’t Marco let him pretend this wasn’t real for just a minute longer?

But it was okay. It’d be okay. It was _Marco._

Marco put up with Jean’s shit. That’s pretty much the base definition of being his friend, and Marco had proved it over and over again these last few months as Jean flailed about tamping his omega-sense down with so many lids he couldn’t even find the damn pot anymore. In return, Jean reminded Marco that he didn’t owe everyone his time and energy. Because the guy was so naturally nice he needed the help.

If there was anyone who could get through this, it would be Marco.

Jean curled himself closer to his friend and felt a spike of pleasure when Marco’s arm tightened around his waist. It shushed his impending panic—which could see through Jean’s bullshit like looking through clear glass—long enough for Jean to close his eyes and _sleep_.

Everything was going to be okay.

 

\--

 

Everything went to shit.

Because Marco… was off.

Hey, just because he didn’t openly exploit his intense knowledge of Marco didn’t mean he wasn’t Marco’s _best friend_. Jean was perfectly capable of sussing out when the guy was faking it.

The first clue was when he woke up that morning to an empty cot. Warmth lingered on his skin, which meant Marco had snuck out recently—not, in itself, unusual. Marco normally woke him up, but Jean expected a bit of skirting around each other to avoid an awkward morning after.

He found Marco outside the bathrooms talking to Nack, of all people. The brunet jerked his head up at Jean’s approach and grinned good-naturedly. Something wasn't right[, but Jean’s sluggish brain couldn’t pinpoint what.

“Morning Jean!” Marco clapped a hand on Jean’s shoulder. “Nack and I were gonna grab breakfast. You coming?”

Jean furrowed his brow. The bullshit alert inside his head started to ring. “Sure. Bit early, though.”

“But fresh toast,” Marco marveled, and promptly dragged them all to the cafeteria.

Breakfast was bad. Marco kept chattering away with Nack, every once in a while pulling Jean enthusiastically into the conversation despite his reproachful glares. Which was breakfast as usual, except this wasn’t supposed to be breakfast as usual.

This was the morning after that-which-Jean-had-tried-to-avoid breakfast, the Jean-had-lost-the-reins-of-his-omega-sense breakfast, the shit-Marco-sorry-but-you-liked-it-too breakfast. But Marco wasn’t saying anything, so Jean didn’t want to say anything, and this almost-normal behavior had Jean so wrong-footed he took far too long to notice the ‘almost’ tacked to the front of that descriptor.

Jean finished two pieces of toast, a bowl of gruel, and half of Marco’s unfinished bread before realizing what was off.

Marco wasn’t looking him in the eye.

He kept glancing just past Jean, gaze landing on his left ear or shoulder or more commonly the wall behind Jean’s head. Sure, he was still willing to touch Jean—tapping his elbow to get his attention, more claps on the shoulder, nothing that could be insinuated as something more—but he wouldn’t _look at him_. It was so disconcerting seeing Marco’s chocolate brown eyes staring off-point, Jean forgot to swallow and a piece of chewed up bread fell out of his mouth.

“Jean,” Marco chided. He sounded so much like his normal self. But no. He still wasn’t looking at Jean, and a seed of panic finally rooted itself into Jean’s chest. Because Marco wasn’t supposed to get _pissed_. Unwilling to sit through another half hour of this bullshit, Jean suddenly stood up and excused himself.

He tried to ignore his heart sinking when he glanced back and realized Marco hadn’t seemed to notice. He was too busy talking to Nack. Fine. Maybe Jean needed some time alone to process anyway.

He bumped into Mylius on the way out; the other boy was staring like a creepy creeper at Marco and Nack and barely noticed Jean almost plowing him over.

“No problem, just join right in,” he told Mylius in a bitter tone. “Everything’s great now I’m gone, don’t mind me.”

This seemed to break the other boy out of his daze. Mylius raised an eyebrow at him. “He’s at it again, is he?”

“What?”

“Marco’s distancing tactic,” Mylius shook his head. “Got scared you were too close and trying to ignore the crap out of you? Yeah, sounds like him.”

“What?” Jean repeated, because _excuse you_ , he was the leading expert on Marco Bodt not this… wannabe-pre-alpha. Not that Marco and Mylius weren’t good friends, but Jean was Marco’s _best_ friend. More than friends?

He had no fucking idea.

“Maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought,” Mylius goaded him like the asshole he was, and Jean pulled back his lips and outright _growled_. The other boy paled and fled to Marco’s and Nack’s table without another word. Coward.

As if to prove the universe was out to get him, when he turned to stalk out in righteous indignity Connie had to go and ruin it: “Dude, did I wake up to you and Marco having _sex_ this morning?”

Jean shot him a glare of absolute death, because he was already in a horrendous mood and Connie was looking so self-indulgently outraged Jean wanted to shove his fingers into his eyeballs.

“Shut up,” he said instead. Connie should be grateful leaving the cafeteria with his eyes intact.

Except Connie was an ungrateful dick, and he kept following Jean even as he walked out towards the training grounds.

“I totally did! Holy shit. You know I probably wasn’t the only one, right? Like, the barracks are kind of public? Gross dude. Just. Ugh.”

“ _Connie_.”

“And what was that about Mina, anyway?” It was like Connie was having the time of his life digging himself into a hole. “I heard she’s pissed. So yeah, she’s on her heat and her hormones are out of whack, but Sasha said something about Mina calling you a dick yesterday and dude.” Connie ran up in front of Jean, eyes wide as saucers. “Did you get laid _twice_?”

“Sasha knows that you still sleep with a blankie,” Jean informed him.

Connie squawked. “You told me you wouldn’t tell anyone!”

“I didn’t. She snuck into the boy’s barracks to draw a dick on your face and caught you in the act. Practically woke you up laughing but Marco and I got to her in time.”

Jean regretted saying Marco’s name, because Connie’s focus returned quick as a whip. “So you had sex with Mina and it was crap. And this morning you woke me up having sex with Marco? What, was Marco like your rebound fuck or something? No wonder he’s so pissed at you.”

Jean couldn’t even say anything to that. Marco was supposed to be the rational, mature one in this relationship. Being unreasonable and pissed off was Jean’s job; he honestly had next to no experience with their roles reversed.

Besides, Jean sulked to himself as he ignored Connie’s intent stare, he might have been flattened in his omega-sense’s brief moment of freedom but Marco had _kissed back_. And he’d been so hard he could have smashed a brick wall with his dick.

And it wasn’t like Jean didn’t already know Marco loved him.

Jean practically fell over Connie. Yeah, he’d known it. But he’d trusted his mind not to betray him by thinking it, because there was a lot of shit Jean knew was true that he didn’t admit because he wasn’t fucking ready for it and _dammit, even his brain was against him now._

Jean clutched his head and tried his hardest not to look like a crazy person.

From the look on Connie’s face, he wasn’t succeeding.

“Jean,” Connie said, finally looking sympathetic. He patted Jean’s back in what he supposed was a soothing manner, except Jean was used to Marco’s soothing pats and Connie’s were woefully sub-par. “I can’t really say what’s up, but I don’t think Marco’s going to drop you forever. He’s your best friend, right? And from what I, uh, heard. He wasn’t against the idea. Except for the rebound thing. That’s fucked up.”

“It wasn’t a rebound,” Jean said, before turning away so he could hide the flush in his cheeks. “Now shut up before Shadis comes and reams you for talking out of turn.”

“Whatever dude,” Connie shook his head. “Though you do realize if it wasn’t a rebound, then it was for real, right?”

Jean was stonily silent.

“Did you just confess your love of Marco to me?”

“Shut the fuck up, Connie,” Jean hissed, and of course Shadis turned up right that second. Of course.

Two laps around the field, here we go.

Jean lasted through all of training, most of lunch and half of their hour-long break time before he decided enough was enough. If he and Eren could mutually agree to wipe their memories of Jean sticking a few fingers up Eren’s ass, Jean could talk it out with Marco.

Except Marco was so much more important than Eren. So important it made Jean sick.

“Marco,” Jean jerked his chin towards the back of the barracks. Marco noticeably faltered, but Nack and Mylius had already seen Jean by the bunks. Bless Marco’s complete incapacity for being so obviously rude. The boy smiled, excused himself from their card game, and then followed Jean out back.

Jean whirled and pinned Marco against the wooden siding.

“Marco Bodt, I swear to god,” Jean said, and Marco’s open expression suddenly shuttered. He looked terrified.

“Jean?” he said, immediately averting his gaze, but Jean was a stubborn asshole when he wanted to be. He pressed flush against the other boy and used his free hand to force Marco to face him. To look at him.

“You know, normally _you're_ the one trying to get _me_ to talk,” Jean bit out, gaze trained on Marco’s wide eyes. “Yeah, it was weird, but I’d hoped… I thought…” He internally winced at his own hesitance. Great, he sounded needy.

Marco bit his lip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re such a shit liar.”

“Jean.”

“Shove it,” Jean hissed, and he was so angry he let go of Marco’s chin to shake him. “Are you ashamed? Is that what this is? Like, oh no, made out with Jean last night, worst thing to happen ever?”

“Jean, stop it,” Marco grabbed Jean’s wrists, looking flustered and yeah, a bit upset. Jean thought _finally._ Because he needed Marco to look the way he felt, instead of hiding behind that mask he’d donned since morning. “It’s complicated—”

“It’s _not_ ,” Jean insisted. To prove it, he leaned forward and kissed the scowl right off of Marco’s mouth.

He half expected Marco to push him away. Obviously he regretted… whatever had happened yesterday, leaving Jean the dumbass omega who got led on by his dick and now suffered a broken heart for his troubles and _fuck_. His brain was betraying him again. After a beat of Marco’s lifeless lips against his own questioning ones, Jean made to pull away because he had dignity. But then Marco sighed, as if completely fed up with Jean’s bullshit, and gently opened his mouth. Allowed Jean to nibble on his lip and lick inside, mouth mobile and warm and tasting like _him._

And god, he still loved how good it felt. Pissed the hell off at Marco and he still managed to love it, which set the ground for some unsettling future confrontations. He didn’t care. He pressed close against Marco’s body, face angling to deepen the kiss. Marco was pliant and willing and _annoyed_ , pinching Jean’s side before wrapping a hand around his waist. The other hand reached around Jean to cup the back of his head, palm coming to rest at the top of his nape. Jean broke off with a groan.

“Marco,” he gasped, so warm and comfortable. He pressed soft kisses like breaths to the other boy’s chin. “Marco, c’mon. Can’t we… can’t the two of us…”

Marco’s whole body shuddered.

Jean was suddenly shoved back, warmth torn right from him so fast he still felt the ghost of the other boy’s skin brushing his neck. He gaped as the other boy folded into himself and slid, silent, to the ground.

“Jean,” Marco said, quiet. He began twisting his ring. “You don’t know what you’re doing. I can’t—I can’t do this with you.”

The words sliced through him. Shit. That hurt more than he thought, even when he’d been bracing himself for it.

“Why?”

“Jean—”

“You don’t like me? Bullshit, I could feel your boner this morning and you _just kissed_ back—”

“I don’t need to explain myself to you,” Marco said, turning away and Jean was so angry he wanted to grab him by the shoulders and scream. “I’m not convenient because I haven’t presented yet, Jean.”

Jean gaped at him. “And what the hell does _that_ mean?”

“I mean, I’m not here as a test subject, Jean!” Marco’s voice rose, “Some notch on your belt as you develop into an omega, no hard feelings afterwards like with—with Eren or Mina. Just because I haven’t presented doesn’t make _this_ not real. I won’t let you treat me like some trial run for a mate; I respect our friendship more than that.”

Even when a tiny part of his brain was practically screaming at him that he was falling right into Marco’s trap, getting distracted from the real issue—Jean was still blindsided by how much it _hurt._

“Fuck you, Bodt,” Jean’s voice trembled. He felt like he was spinning back in time, careening towards disaster again but he couldn’t stop it. Not then, not now. “Didn’t know you thought so little of me.”

“I _know_ you,” Marco said like he was stating a fact, and that was just.

That was too much. Jean’s eyes burned omega-gold, and he was suddenly up in Marco’s space. “And I know _you_ , Marco! You’re just freaking _terrified as hell_ you might like me back, ‘cause that make this real, wouldn’t it? Not like the act you put up in training, all to sneak out meeting _who knows what_ —”

Marco reeled back, eyes wide as saucers at Jean’s admission. Jean felt a pang of horror at the subject he’d brought up, because it had been more than a year since that had happened and there was a _reason_ he hadn’t bothered mentioning it. But he couldn't stop. “I might not have seen his face, but I saw you meeting your secret boyfriend. Must be nice letting you fool me like a high-class whore looking for secrets—”

And Jean knew he’d gone too far. Marco lunged forward and tackled Jean into the dirt, sudden and terrifying and fighting dirty. He used his body weight tto hold Jean down while he grabbed the back of his neck. Jean went numb for a brief, terrifying moment before fury flooded through his veins. He tore himself away from Marco’s hold and kneed him in the stomach, making to escape when the larger boy hissed in pain. Before he could roll away, Marco managed to grab Jean’s arms and pin them to his sides, relentless despite Jean’s struggles.

This wasn’t like their usual wrestling—it wasn’t playful or teasing or coy. Marco was using his full strength and Jean wasn’t prepared for it. He freed an arm and clawed Marco’s neck and face and would’ve nicked his ear, too, if the other boy hadn’t bit his hand so hard it bled. Marco straddled his legs and almost had his balls busted when Jean bucked upwards in fury. He couldn’t even describe the frenzy surging hot under his skin; it was like his omega-sense had come to a mutual agreement with his rage and decided to make Jean go bat-shit _insane_.

Jean began writhing and snarling and yelling, and would have been somewhat impressed at Marco’s ability to keep him trapped if he’d been of a saner mind. Instead, all Jean could think of was how _dare_ Marco hold him down like this, not when he’d fucking rejected him and this wasn’t _fair_. Confused shouts came from within the barracks; obviously the other boys were picking up on their fighting.

Marco pressed so heavily onto his chest Jean wheezed.

“Listen to me,” Marco growled, “You don’t understand _anything_ , Jean.”

“You’re right,” Jean spat in his face. Marco winced but let the spit roll down his cheek, obviously not wanting to relinquish his hold of Jean’s arms to wipe it. “Sorry I thought we had a chance, _sir_.”

And for a split moment, Jean thought Marco was going to hit him. Really, honest to god, lift his hand up and smack him across the face—and something deep within his omega-sense cringed. Jean _hated_ himself.

“C’mon guys, break it up. Marco! Get off of him!”

Connie suddenly appeared behind Marco’s shoulder, grabbed him by the arm, and yanked him up. Marco twisted away with a snarl, and Jean took advantage of that vulnerable moment to kick him solidly in the groin. Connie winced when the brunet doubled over, and Jean felt equal parts satisfied and concerned before Eren and Armin dragged him away.

“Holy shit,” Eren said, watching Reiner help drag Marco into the barracks. Jean, for his part, refused to turn around; he’d rather claw his own face off than look at Marco right now, he was so mad. Eren frowned down at Jean. “Is this a fight? Are you guys fighting? What the hell did you do, Jean?”

“What makes you think this is my fault?” Jean hissed, and Eren and Armin both looked at him like he’d grown two heads. Sure, ninety-nine percent of all of Jean and Marco’s fights were just Jean being a pissy baby, but that should have been an indicator that this fight _wasn’t_ Jean’s fault. Because this was real.

He hadn’t meant for it to go this way at all. Everything had just gone _wrong_. Jean’s fury burned so intense, he suddenly wanted to cry. It was mortifying.

He shrugged off Eren's and Armin’s hands and staggered to his feet, wincing when all the sore spots on his body protested. Strapping on the 3D maneuvering gear was going to be hell tonight.

“Jean?” Armin said when Jean began limping away. The horrible thing was, the blond sounded so sincerely worried for him. That wasn’t his job, though. That was Marco’s job.

Maybe not anymore, a little voice whispered in his head melodramatically, and Jean _ached_. Not physically, but somewhere deeper and softer and infinitely worse than anywhere on his body.

“See you,” Jean said hollowly.

The other boys had the grace not to follow him out to the woods, where Jean pressed his face against the bark of a tree and closed his eyes. If he opened them, he felt like he was going to scream.

 

\--

 

Back in the barracks, Marco Bodt pressed his face into his pillow and tried to even out his breathing. In, out. In, out.

Jean had _seen August_. He’d seen August and hadn’t said anything, and how much did Jean know of this anyway? Was Marco wrong in thinking Jean was innocent of this whole business? No, that was ridiculous. Jean could bluff, but he wasn’t _that_ good of a liar. Not like Marco was.

In, out. In, out.

Marco squeezed his eyes shut. The only thing he knew for sure was this: Jean was already too close, and everything was spiraling hopelessly, inevitably, out of his control.

 

\--

 

Unfortunately, military training had a zero-tolerance policy for dramatic teenage bullshit. Titans don’t care about drama, after all.

Which meant that Jean, despite wanting to hide out for the rest of the day, was forced back to the grounds for his daily allotment of omega-sense training hell. Their training over the months had been annoying and humiliating and today was no exception. It was probably masochistic of Jean that he found it a relief from having to deal with Marco, but he didn’t care. The pain from training was, at the very least, comforting in its familiarity.

“If humans had no self-control, alphas would run rampant over everyone,” Shadis growled out, walking in front of the increasingly long line of omegas and one alpha. “The alpha voice evolved as part of an overall arsenal of leadership skills. It grips an omega or a beta and encourages them follow a command. _Sit_!”

Jean gritted his teeth when hooks in  Shadis’s voice tried yanking him to the ground. He was already in a bad mood, and Shadis throwing about his alpha-sense wasn't helping things. He needed self-control. Biting his instructor would probably get him kicked out of camp. _Self-control_.

No one sat, and Shadis looked somewhat pleased. “As you all demonstrated, the alpha voice doesn’t always work. It’s a nudge, not a strict command. In the military, we use these nudges to help direct teams during missions. It significantly speeds up the time it takes to get things done by keeping everyone and their subconscious on the same page.”

Which somehow led to timing how fast or slow the omegas were when given a command in alpha voice. They switched off between following the alpha voice’s instruction and rebelling against it, and Jean was getting frustrated. He was pretty good at rebelling against the voice, but he sucked all kinds of balls at actually following it.

In fact, unlike most of the other omegas there—including Bertholdt and a few other omegas that had presented after him, none of whom Jean knew well—Jean actually performed worse when directed by the alpha voice than when he wasn’t. It was humiliating being put on the spot when Shadis inevitably yelled at him for being a rebellious little shit.

“I don’t get why this is so important anyway,” Jean had the stupidity to mutter in Shadis’s hearing range, and Shadis narrowed his eyes at him.

“Do you know long it takes for a titan to swipe down a wire in a closed space? Not very fucking long, Kirstein. A few seconds can save your life—is that important enough for you?”

This, Jean thought viciously as he tried to touch his toes faster at Shadis’s insistence, is punishment. He didn’t even like the way most alphas smelled, what made Shadis think Jean would like listening to an alpha’s voice. This somehow circled back liking how Marco smelled, and Jean had to do an accidental somersault onto his back to derail that thought because therein lay the path to madness.

After fulfilling the universe’s allotted embarrassments for the day, Shadis finally let Jean join Reiner’s group—with Mina glaring at him with her arms crossed. Lovely. He found that he followed Reiner’s instructions a lot better than Shadis, which was kind of a blessing.

“You’re touching your toes a few seconds faster,” Reiner said encouragingly after the third try. “That’s pretty good.”

“I’m still faster, though,” Mina added, and Reiner raised a brow. He glanced between Jean and Mina, and Jean was way too tired to care about what the gossip mill was undoubtedly spewing about their disastrous sex attempt. Who gave a fuck.

Reiner erred on the side of caution and shrugged. “You’ve been an omega the longest, Mina. You know yourself the best.”

“Yes,” Mina said thoughtfully, tapping her chin. “More than others know themselves, maybe.”

“Don’t be such a bitch,” Jean snapped at her, and she turned to stare at him incredulously. He wasn’t normally pissy towards girls, but he wasn’t in the mood for this now. “It’s not my fault you grabbed my scruff—”

“You _left me_ in that room,” Mina shot back.

“As if you couldn’t find another guy to fuck you,” Jean muttered, and Mina’s expression went ugly.

“Well at least there are people willing to sleep with me,” she said, voice cold. “Unlike you. Is it true that _Marco_ turned you down?”

Jean’s hackles rose. “You—”

“Enough!” Reiner interjected, stepping between the two omegas. He placed a calming hand on Mina’s shoulder and gently pushed her back—such a gentleman to the lady—before rounding on Jean with an angrier expression. “Look, I know it’s awkward but we’re trying to get through training together. If you can’t cool off, Jean, I suggest you sit aside for now.”

“Why do _I_ have to go?” Jean demanded.

“Because you’re the one pouring distress pheromones everywhere,” Reiner said. “Like I said: go cool off.”

Jean clenched his fists but did as he was told. He wasn’t even out of hearing range before Reiner turned to Mina and asked, “ _Marco_ rejected _Jean?”_

“I know, right?” Mina snorted. “Guess he’s got some standards after all.”

Funny coming from the girl who’d propositioned Jean herself.

Except Reiner had sounded so shocked, like of course Marco was obviously willing to roll around in bed with Jean, he just needed the okay. Except not. At least Jean wasn’t the only one that had... that had thought Marco felt the same way back.

Even if it was the last nail in the coffin of Jean’s dignity.

Fuck it. The guy didn’t have the decency to explain why he wasn’t interested—despite all the evidence to the contrary, and while Jean wasn’t owed it he’d still _like to know_ —Jean wasn’t going to waste time worrying about it. It was Marco’s loss.

Everything will be fine.

And then dinner rolled around.

Jean ended up sitting at the corner of Connie and Sasha’s table rather than in his usual spot, fuming to himself while trying hard not to look at Marco over his shoulder. Marco, who was laughing at something funny Nack said, and acting completely normal except for the fact that he didn’t look in Jean’s direction once.

This was even worse than when Marco was pretending everything was okay. So Jean hadn’t taken the rejection with grace, but he hadn’t expected himself to. Rejection stung. People got upset at rejection all the time.

He hadn’t meant it when he’d brought up Marco’s strange meetings, and Marco didn’t seem to care about Eren and Mina and Jean’s sexual escapades before. So what about Jean wasn't good enough anymore? 

His glare at Marco intensified. He kind of wanted to just duke it out with fists or screaming or _something_. Anything was better than… being ignored.

It’d been a while since he felt so _alone._

Jean shoved his spoon into his stew so violently it spattered onto his shirt. For God’s _sake_. Connie shot him a sympathetic look as Jean scrubbed at his shirt, gave up, and shoveled the rest of the stew into his mouth. Even Eren gave him a strange stare when he went to drop off his tray, and wow, the world was going to collapse. Pity from Jaeger? He’d pick a fight, except he didn’t want to draw even more attention to himself.

As if the universe was rubbing his nose into it, he and Marco dropped their trays off at the kitchens at the same time. Marco’s back was turned towards him, so Jean saw him first. Caught the ghost of his profile and the peek of Marco’s freckled neck before the boy turned around and caught sight of him too. Marco’s gaze skirted over Jean’s before he stumbled past Jean so fast, Jean would be worried he’d trip and fall if he wasn’t so viciously entertaining the idea as payback.

Marco had thrown the first punch, after all. Even if he knew Marco probably hadn’t meant it like Jean hadn’t meant his own words, it still hurt.

So of course he didn’t want Marco actually talking to him.

But he did. He did, he did, he was so tempted to go crawling back and apologize to Marco just to make things good between them again and—god, Jean wanted to ball up his omega-sense and chuck it over the wall. It was such a little bitch.

If anyone was going to apologize first, it was going to be Marco. Besides, the brunet didn’t have the tenacity to resist at least one heart-to-heart before the end of the day.

Except bedtime came, and Marco _still_ hadn’t talked to him. He headed to the bathroom together with Nack and Mylius a full hour before he usually went, and spent the extra time playing cards with the other boys out front. Jean trekked to his bunk half expecting Marco to move his cot entirely—given what happened today, it wouldn’t be much of a stretch—but was sharply relieved to find Marco already in bed, eyes closed. Not sleeping, but pretending enough that Jean felt too tired to question it.

He’d moved his cot away from Jean’s, which Jean actually appreciated because it meant he didn’t have to wake Marco up by moving the cot himself. Not that he wouldn’t prefer their cots to be together, but Marco had made it very clear that that wasn’t happening. Ever.

The important thing was, Marco was still _there_.

Jean hadn’t realized how adverse he was to the idea of sharing his bunk with someone else until it became a possibility. Having some other guy fill that space with his scent, ruin the sacredness of their nest—it made his skin crawl. Yeah, he was a stereotypically territorial omega when it came to things like this. Sue him.

Jean buried his face into his pillow and felt better breathing Marco’s non-scent—more cinnamony now, his traitorous brain whispered—and hated himself because he shouldn’t. This was what caused problems to begin with.

“Good night, Marco,” he whispered, because he was a masochist who couldn’t stop himself.

After a long pause in which Jean’s heart sank like a stone— _stupid, stupid, stupid—_ he heard Marco sigh beside him.

“Good night.” Marco’s voice was soft, but there. Those two words were enough to lift Jean's hopes up, even if they failed soon after. Its last dying words echoed in Jean’s mind before he slept: things will get better. They always did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah no Jean it's not a secret to anyone that you and Marco want to bang.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stop being so melodramatic,” Connie said and poked him in the side. Jean threw him an affronted glare. “Marco loves you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The feels. Sorry for all the feels everyone. Things get worse before they get better, and this chapter is dipping into the "worse" category because the PLOT comes back with a vengeance. 
> 
> Jean isn't have a very good week.
> 
> _Warnings for this chapter (will change tags to fit): Threatening to and attempted rape. Some blood/violence._

  


  


8.

 

If things were going to get better, they sure were taking their sweet time.

Breakfast was frosty. Lunch was a blizzard. Dinner was hell frozen over and a heaping of glaciers served on top just for fun. Ironically, the only time the temperature warmed was when they slept, but that’s probably because they’d come to an unspoken truce. Marco wasn’t going to move his cot and neither was Jean, so while they might avoid each other like the plague in the freedom of the training grounds, they were going to have to put up with being within two feet of each other every night.

Jean was miserable.

That wasn’t new. The worst part—though there were a lot of worst parts, probably because everything felt equally shitty—was that Marco continued to act absolutely fine. Reroute friendships to Nack and Mylius and at times to Connie and Sasha—when Jean wasn’t hanging out with them—and he was as happy as a clam.

On the other hand, Jean skulked about and tried not to feel like this was the first month of training all over again. Lonely and self-righteous and so pitiful he could barely look himself in the mirror.

Almost a week of this and even the other trainees were getting concerned.

“Stop being such a wet blanket,” Connie demanded after Jean refused to roll out of Connie’s bunk. He’d climbed up there to ask Connie a homework question and didn’t have the energy to leave. “I’m meeting up with Sasha and Eren and Armin later for lunch. We’re going to play cards after. Come join us or get out of my bunk and sulk somewhere else.”

“I’m not sulking,” Jean sulked.

“We’ll invite Marco if you don’t come,” Connie threatened, and Jean lifted his head up enough to shoot him a death glare. The shorter boy didn’t budge. “He’s better company anyway.”

“Of course,” Jean scowled into Connie’s blanket. Connie’s scent was muted and neutral—like most other unpresented kids. “Because Marco is perfect and nice and funny. Fine. Go to the enemy.”

“No,” Connie said slowly, like he was talking to a child. “He’s just better at hiding how miserable he is.”

“Are you kidding me?” Jean said. “He aced yesterday’s quiz, became BFFs with Nack and Mylius and gods know what else he’s done to prove he’s over—over me. Marco is fine.”

“Marco practically ran into a pole, he was staring at you so hard during training yesterday.”

“What? No. He hasn’t been looking at me, Connie. I would’ve noticed.”

“Not when you’re in the middle of eating or training. He’s looking at you when you’re not looking at him, and it’s actually really sickening to sit through, not going to lie.” Connie wrinkled his nose. “When are you guys going to make up?”

“He’s the one that rejected me. You try to convince him I’m worth his time.” Jean bit out. “Until then, we’re no longer friends.”

“Stop being so melodramatic,” Connie said and poked him in the side. Jean threw him an affronted glare. “Marco loves you.”

Jean’s heart caught in his throat—painful, awkward and impossible to ignore. “What about _rejected me_ don’t you understand?”

“Okay, no one really expected _that_ ,” Connie admitted. “But it doesn’t change the fact that Marco always looks at you like the sun shines out of your ass—”

“Shut up, shut up, _shut up_ ,” Jean snarled, finally sitting up. If Connie was going to put him through the wringer, he wasn’t going to lie here and take it. Congrats, Connie, goal achieved. “And I’m not sitting with Eren fucking Jaeger, no matter how pathetic I get. Go find Marco. I don’t care.”

“You’re such a dick,” Connie rolled his eyes. “God knows why anyone would miss trailing after you.”

“You know what? You’re right.” Jean elbowed Connie out of the way and dragged himself down the bunk ladder. “I don’t know either.”

That should’ve been the end of that, but Connie couldn’t take Jean’s massive _this-conversation-is-over_ hint if it’d smacked him in the face.

“I think Marco likes to spoil you,” Connie offered. “It’s like an adorable kid using death by niceness to win over a hissing cat.”

“I,” Jean said, enraged, “am not a _cat_.”

“My bad,” Connie said. “I meant horse. A hissing horse.”

Jean flipped him off and stalked out of the barracks, because he really was a wet blanket with no friends and he didn’t feel like confirming it by suffering through lunch alone. Instead, he was going to hide out in a tree. He and trees were cool. Except for that one time he got stuck in one and Marco had to help him down—

Seriously, was his brain completely incapable of _not_ thinking of Marco every ten seconds? He wanted to mutiny, except last week had proven how completely helpless he was in the face of his omega-sense. He hated it.

Sure, his mom was an omega and he’d read enough romance novels as a guilty pleasure that he knew what to expect if he ever did present as one, but it wasn’t the _same_. This wasn’t a book he could snap shut when he was tired of being yanked around by the protagonist’s emotions.

Jean kicked a tree viciously and doubled over, hissing in pain. Goddammit.

“Goddammit!” he screamed at the tree, because just saying it in his head wasn’t cathartic enough. “God-fucking-dammit!”

He made to kick the tree again, because hey, what was one more bruise on his foot? Except someone grabbed him from behind and yanked him back with such force he crashed right into him. Jean was shocked long enough to register the familiar scent before he finally turned around.

“Marco,” he snapped, trying his hardest to keep the flush out of his cheeks.

“Jean,” Marco said courteously.

Jean stared at him. It was the first time he’d let himself look at Marco up close in days, and he was surprised to see that the other boy actually seemed… haggard. The lighting might be bad, but Jean was pretty sure it wasn’t the shade darkening the skin under Marco’s eyes. Jean itched to swipe his thumb there with concern… shit. No, no, no. Abort, Kirstein, abort.

Meanwhile, Marco hadn’t moved an inch. He was still right in Jean’s space, which would’ve been strange but not abnormal prior to their spat but was now obviously a sign of the apocalypse.

Marco cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”

Jean narrowed his eyes. “Minding my own business. Not that it should matter to you.”

“By kicking trees?”

“The trees and I have an understanding,” Jean informed him. “I get to kick and scream at them all I want. In return, they get to be my friend.”

“Ah yes,” Marco said. “What a wonderful and fulfilling life that is. Surely all the other trees must be jealous. How they long to come in contact with the sole of your manure-covered foot.”

“Manure is good for trees,” Jean said, before remembering that they were fighting and he wasn’t supposed to be talking to Marco anymore. He took a step back and was surprised when the other boy stepped with him, and wouldn’t stop walking until he was so close Jean felt his breath ghosting his cheeks.

Marco _definitely_ smelled a bit like cinnamon, but Jean had enough self-preservation not to bring it up.

The brunet dropped to his knees and circled a hand around Jean’s calf. The image of Marco crouching in front of him, with his soft lips close enough to his groin to ratchet up Jean’s heart rate, seared itself irreversibly into his brain. Goddamn his teenage hormones. His mouth went dry when Marco tilted his head up and tapped Jean’s leg with a finger.

“Let me see your foot,” Marco said, because he was a fucking weirdo who obviously had a thing for feet.

“No,” Jean tried yanking his foot back, but Marco’s grip was iron-tight. He ended up sliding to the ground with his back to the tree. “It’s _fine_ , Marco. Leave it.”

“Don’t needlessly injure yourself,” Marco frowned, tugging at Jean’s boot. “Your foot’s important when it comes to using the gear.”

“Everything’s important,” Jean said. “I don’t think there’s anything I can lose that won’t make me titan meat if I end up outside the walls.” After a beat. “Not that I will. I’m not as suicidal as Jaeger.”

“I know.”

“We’re going to the Military police,” Jean said, and wanted to smack himself for addressing both him and Marco in the first person plural. They weren’t together. They weren’t ever going to be together. Marco made that abundantly clear. Except here he was, close and warm enough to begin tricking Jean’s omega-sense into thinking things were—temporarily—okay, and fuck it if the mixed signals weren’t getting to his head.

Marco popped the boot off and had no reaction to Jean’s undoubtedly sweaty and stinky sock-covered foot. He slid the sock off and exposed Jean’s skin to the cool air, one bare hand sliding down the sole of the foot and cupping his heel. Jean shivered at the sensation. Marco brushed his other hand over the purple-red smatter blossoming on the side. He looked utterly and adorably concentrated on the task, and shit, Jean wasn’t supposed to let him do this anymore.

Marco had been the one to reject him, so it was Jean’s duty to enforce his choice at every opportunity possible.

But it was hard to feel pissed with Marco handling his foot so gently, even if it confused the fuck out of him. Jean twitched when the other boy pressed his thumb to the forming bruise and began to rub in circles, dispersing the gathering blood. Sending the blood somewhere else entirely. _Fuck_.  


As it was, Marco gave no indication he noticed Jean’s erection so close to his face and Jean was loathed to draw attention to it. They sat in complete silence as Marco rubbed the bruise long enough for the color to fade. Jean stared at his freckles the entire time. They were faint but still visible in the dim shadow of the trees, spattered across Marco’s nose and cheeks and down his neck and under the folded collar of his crisp white shirt. Jean remembered pressing his lips against them and tasting Marco’s skin. He remembered how warm and soft around the edges he felt. 

And then Marco—the bastard, gave his foot one last pat, set it gently to the ground, and then leaned over to kiss the crease of his inner thigh through his pants. Close enough that his cheek brushed Jean's dick and. There was no way Marco couldn't have _known._ Jean’s brain refused to process this development, so when the bastard even snuck a glance up at Jean, expression soft and unfairly handsome, it blew him away. Literally.  


Jean Kirstein, ladies and gentleman. Coming in his pants to a foot-rub and a _look_.  


Marco blinked slowly at Jean's shiver, like he was coming out of a dream. Jean knew he'd returned to reality with the brunet's flushed a dark red. To his credit, however, he didn't pull the same tactic as last time and run away.

“D-Don’t kick any more trees,” Marco stammered, sliding his sock and boot back on like nothing had had happened. 

Jean, whose own cheeks warmed, tried to collect his thoughts even as fluid dripped down his inner thigh. He wanted to  kick Marco in the head because how _dare_ he, this counted as a _violation_ and he wasn't going to accept _Oh I didn't_ mean to ___honest,_ as an answer. He wanted to confront Marco, not  _l_ et him get away with it, but his omega-sense was being a controlling bitch today, wasn't it? 

Making Jean open his mouth and say, “I’ll be sure to not make it a habit.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

Marco cleared his throat and looked away.

“Shadis called a meeting,” he said, still not looking at Jean. The blush spread down his neck and to past his collar, which was... adorable. _No_ , goddamn ___omega hormones_. “No one knew where you were, so I came to find you. It’s in half an hour at the main training ground.”

“Okay,” Jean said, after a beat waiting for Marco to add to that relevant yet frankly shitty explanation. Shadis and a meeting were important, of course, but how the hell did Marco know he was in the woods? Unless he really was eying Jean when he wasn’t looking.

Because obviously Marco always had the secret desire to stalk him and send confusing mixed signals via sexual favors. God, Jean, get a hold of yourself.

“Jean...” Marco said, then seemed to cut himself off. Jean tried to beat down a flare of disappointment, because _come on_. Marco shook his head and changed his words: “I’ll leave first.”

“Wipe your hands,” Jean couldn’t help but snark when Marco turned his back.

He watched Marco disappear from sight, wanting to call him back but too stubborn to say a word. A change of pants. That’s what he needed. With a sigh, Jean turned in the opposite direction and trudged to the barracks alone.

 

\--

 

Shadis’s meeting went like this.

“One of the weapon shipments sent out Karenese has been stolen by bandits,” he announced. “As the rest of the military is busy handling more important matters, I’ve been informed by my superiors that you lot are responsible for fixing the problem. As I see this as a fabulous way to get your pretty asses into gear, I’ve graciously agreed to lend you out for the task.”

What this meant, as Jean deciphered after another half hour of shouting, was that they were going to trek all the way to Trost, pick up a new shipment entirely, and complete the journey to Karanese. Going after the bandits seemed more logical, but Jean suspected a combination of cowardice—what if they wasted time trying to get those guns back and failing?—and patronization—as if those trainees could do anything anyway—kept the higher-ups from suggesting the obvious.

The faults in this plan just kept revealing themselves the longer Shadis talked. Because the bandits weren’t taken care of, the military had to be careful that they didn’t steal another shipment. Ten squads were to be sent out at different times with only one of them picking up and delivering the real shipment. Because of this, the entire mission was going to take place over three days.

Shadis suggested they prepare themselves.

Unfortunately, there were a lot of things Jean didn’t even think of preparing for.

“Hey there, pretty,” a scraggly alpha winked at Jean as he and his squad walked their horses to the military base stables. “What’s a cute one like you playing bitch to those military dogs? Come over my place some time. I’ll show you how to be treated well.”

“Seriously?” Eren said before Jean could even open his mouth. He shoved himself in front of Jean, and lifted his chin defiantly. “Jean’s as cute as a dead rat.”

The alpha raised a considering brow. “You’re cute too. If you’re feeling up to it, you’re more than welcome to join the fun.”

“Is there a problem here?” Mikasa’s voice suddenly washed over them. She sounded ready to sharpen her blade on someone’s back, and Jean couldn’t help but flinch when she stalked up to them. Thankfully, she channeled her rage to the alpha at once. “We’re in the middle of a mission, ma’am. Please refrain from distracting the soldiers.”

“What, so you lot’s above making small talk with the civilians now?” The alpha didn’t back down, crossing her arms across her breast. “Don’t involve yourself in adult matters, little girl.”

“I’m unpresented, not naïve. It’s unscrupulous for an adult alpha to target omega yearlings. Very… pedophilic,” Mikasa said, and the temperature of the alley seemed to plummet below zero. Eren took a step back, which meant Jean had to take a step back unless he wanted to break his nose against Eren’s thick skull, and that’s when he caught the little smile on Jaeger’s mouth.

That little shit _planned_ this. God, Armin was right when he said Eren sometimes set Mikasa loose on people.

Except the more Jean thought about it, the more he realized Eren had planned this _to protect Jean_ , which had so many disturbingly positive connotations for their relationship Jean wanted to bash Eren’s head in just to restore their antagonism. Except Mikasa was right there and Jean didn’t want to die.

“Before you ask,” Eren hissed when they were tying up their horses later, “It wasn’t for you, Kirstein. I can’t stand alpha bullshit in general, even if you do deserve it.”

“Whatever,” Jean rolled his eyes. Eren’s behavior made sense on an animalistic level: omegas in a pack often protected each other, especially those of the same gender. Not that either of them were going to admit it. He finished tying the final knot and patted his horse fondly. “You just wanted her wrinkled alpha clit to yourself.”

“Oh, gross. As if I’d let that anywhere near my ass,” Eren frowned but then threw a smirk at Jean that made his skin crawl. “You, on the other hand, should be grateful. I was your knight in shining armor, after all.”

"I didn’t need your help!” Jean yelled after him. “And Mikasa was the knight, not you!”

He resolved to ignore the other omega for the rest of the trip, which would have been easier if Eren had stopped trying to steal his toast at dinner. Jean ended up kicking Eren’s shins under the table, and then Eren of course kicked back, and they would have ended up in a kicking war if Mikasa didn’t intervene by glaring at them both. Jean licked the crumbs off his hand angrily; he was still hungry, and it was all Eren’s fault.

“You had _five pieces of toast_ ,” Eren hissed when Jean kept glowering at him from behind his glass of water. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“It would have been seven,” Jean snapped back, and Eren threw him the finger.

He later sulked his way up to the room he shared with Bertholdt, who was who-knows-where doing who-knows-what with Reiner. Jean hadn’t realized what an insolated bubble the corps was, with the relatively equal respect—or disrespect—allotted to each trainee regardless of gender or dynamic. Shadis was hard on everyone.

On the other hand, a few hours in Trost had him picking up a lot more subtle cues he’d missed when he was younger. Alphas turning their heads to discreetly check out his ass, though pretty much all of them were too old to consider breaking the yearling barrier. Omegas who either looked Jean up and down and visibly dismissed him as any kind of competition at all, or treated Jean warmly like he was part of some special club. Hell, even the beta guy manning the register downstairs had been creepily nice to him, complimenting his choice to join the military because the bond omegas had with alphas created great squads and contributed to the wellbeing of the kingdom, you know?

He couldn’t help panicking a little at the attention. He viewed his omega-sense as a separate entity in his brain, and it was unnerving to see the rest of the world treating them as one and the same. Even Marco hadn’t been able to separate them, not when it counted.

Jean put down his backpack and fell onto his cot. He should be out partying with the other trainees since the mission so far had been surprisingly relaxing. It’d taken all of three minutes to pick up their fake shipment and haul it back to their quarters, and they weren’t supposed to leave until tomorrow morning.

Armin sugged that as his hometown, Jean should help lead them about. Except he forgot that Trost was _huge_ , and the section they were stationed at was far enough away from his house that Jean was as lost as anyone.

“I have a headache,” Jean had half-lied, even in the face of Armin’s baby-blue puppy eyes. “I think I’m going to stay in.”

“He’s just mad Marco doesn’t want to bone him,” Eren had said, and if that wasn’t just throwing salt onto Jean’s gaping wound. He’d managed to shove Eren up against a pole before Reiner intervened and dragged him away. Not fast enough for Jean to miss the look in Eren’s eyes. He wasn’t laughing at Jean, like he’d expected. He was _pitying_ him. Again.

He rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes, trying to sleep. Jean had camped out enough on various outdoor missions to sleep anywhere, but it didn’t change the fact that he preferred his bunk in the barracks. This cot didn’t smell like him or Marco or home—it smelled like nothing.

He didn’t like it.

Jean twisted and turned until the sheets bunched up around him, sliding off the cot and slipping onto the floor. Jean fell with them. The floor was dirty and smelled too much like damp wood, but he preferred it to the fake hominess of the cot. He wrapped himself up in the sheets and curled into a ball. His head throbbed.

Of course the universe would punish him by turning his minor headache into a splitting migraine.

Hours later, when Reiner stumbled into the room with a drunk Bertholdt lolling across his shoulder, Jean was still there. And still not asleep.

Even if he was, he wouldn’t have been for long. Reiner literally tripped over him on the way to Bertholdt’s bed and was a hair’s breath from crushing Jean under the weight of him and Bertholdt both. Thankfully, he was saved from an untimely death when the two of them landed half on Bertholdt’s bed and half off.

“Buh,” Reiner sputtered. He quickly stood up and pulled Bertholdt the rest of the way onto the bed. He patted the other omega’s head with a large hand before turning to stare blearily at Jean on the floor. “Jean? What are you doing? Your bed’s right there.”

“Don’t like it.”

“What’s going on?” Bertholdt slurred, and Jean wanted to burrow his head under the pillow. God, couldn’t they just leave him alone? He was in the exact opposite mood for conversation right now. “Why’s Jean on the floor?”

“Apparently he doesn’t like the bed,” Reiner informed him. “You think I should carry him up anyway? This is kind of pathetic, right?”

“I’ll bite you,” Jean threatened.

“We’re just worried,” Reiner said. “I mean, you’ve been weird. You didn’t even go out tonight. With the whole Marco thing, it makes sense, but you need to take care of yourself.”

There were so many things in that sentence that made Jean want to sweep Reiner’s legs out from under him. But that would mean he actually had to move. “That’s none of your business.”

“You’re my friend, Jean,” Reiner said firmly. “Of course it’s my business.”

And that made Jean feel weird. Everything that had happened lately seemed to turn itself over in a new light: the fact that Connie, Reiner, and Eren—in his own way—seemed close enough to question his black mood meant that they were close enough to care. Close enough to possibly be friends?

God, was Jean actually friends with Eren? The idea was too horrific to contemplate.

“Well I’m fine.” Jean said. He pulled a sheet over his head and tried ignoring the drumming in his temples. “Marco can go fuck himself. I don’t feel like getting groped by strangers. Everything’s good.”

“We’ll probably see Marco’s team tomorrow night when we reach Karanese,” Reiner continued to wheedle. “Are you going to be okay?”

“What about ‘Marco can go fuck himself’ do you not understand?”

“Just leave him alone,” Bertholdt suggested, beckoning for Reiner with a hand. Jean tried not to feel too envious when the alpha immediately went to the brunet’s side and let himself be pulled close. Bertholdt stroked the short hairs on the back of Reiner’s neck with a hand and pressed a kiss to his nose, intimate enough for Jean to squirm. While not officially mated—their scents hadn’t mixed completely—it was a no-brainer who Reiner will go to the next time he fell into rut.

“Don’t you dare stay here,” Jean said when five minutes passed and Reiner didn’t make a move to leave. “Your scent pisses me off.”

“It annoys you,” Reiner corrected, sitting up with a sigh. “Have you ever thought about what that means, Jean?”

“Shut up,” Jean muttered incoherently into his sheets. “I’m not the one in denial.”

“Says the puddle on the floor. I really think you should sleep on the bed—your back will thank you tomorrow.”

“No,” Jean whined like a little kid, and Reiner seemed to let the issue go. He patted Bertholdt’s head again before stumbling out their room. After a while, Bertholdt’s soft snores filled the silence.

Jean shut his eyes tight and tried to will himself into sleep.

 

\--

 

His back really did hurt the next morning. As well as everything else. Jean felt like he was wading through a wall of pain, and he was the one that hadn’t drank a sip of alcohol last night. Hell, even Eren seemed to be faring better than him, and he looked as hung-over as a kid could be in the seedy part of Trost.

“My toast,” Eren snapped right before stealing the last remaining slice from under Jean’s nose. Jean blinked down at the empty plate and blinked up at Eren. Well, it’s not like he was that hungry anyway.

Eren seemed surprised at his lack of reaction. “What happened to ‘my toast, my precious?’”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jean informed him nastily, and couldn’t even muster up fear when Mikasa threw him a scathing look. Whatever.

He went to go pick up a potato but ended up leaving it there too. He really _wasn’t_ hungry; in fact, the thought of putting anything in his stomach made Jean immediately nauseous. He ambled over to where the rest of the squad was busy digging into breakfast and tried to exude as much leave-me-the-hell-alone aura as he possibly could.

Unfortunately, he’d underestimated the sheer dickishness of his fellow trainees. How could Jean lose the “not it” game if no one bothered to break him out of his zone? Armin looked a step away from protesting when the rest of the assholes began howling with laughter, but that would even more embarrassing. Whatever. Jean could log them out just fine.

He rubbed his eyes as he ambled past a few soldiers on the way to the checkout desk, cursing his luck. Drama in his life and now feeling physically sick, like he was coming down with something… god, the universe really was out to get him.

Which is when he crashed right into someone. Of course.

“Sorry sir,” Jean said hastily, stumbling back. A hand reached out to steady his arm, large and assertive and _alpha_ and something in Jean’s mind recoiled at the touch.

When he looked up to snap at the other person, his words died in his throat.

It was the man in the green jacket.

The world seem to tilt onto its axis, because this image was wrong. The man was from a different chapter of Jean’s life, as demonstrated by the years since he’d last saw him for sure—standing outside their house speaking with his fathers, on the day Wall Maria fell.

“Jean,” the man said after a tense moment wherein the both of them stared at each other. “It’s been a while since we’ve met, haven’t we?”

“Uh,” Jean managed to reply. His brain had short-circuited, and words were so far from his grasp he might as well be trying to yank down the moon. He’d left. He’d put up with a year and a half of torturous training, worth it not only because it put Wall Sina within his reach, but because it signaled the beginning of his new life.

His dad’s shit wasn’t supposed to follow him here.

He yanked back his arm and rubbed it, feeling as if ants were crawling up his back. He finally managed to grasp speech again. “Not sure if we actually met, sir.”

“Nonsense. You’re Frederick Kirstein’s boy, aren’t you?” the man’s gaze flickered down Jean’s body. “We met once, though you were probably too young to remember. I’m… sorry about what happened to your father. Frederick had been a friend.”

“Thanks,” Jean shifted his weight. He wanted to tell the guy to fuck off, except the man in the green jacket was in a military base and maybe it wasn’t a good idea to alienate someone that could, you know, ruin his military career. “If you don’t mind, my squad needs to sign out before beginning our mission…?”

“Of course, of course,” the alpha dipped his head and stepped back. “I’m very grateful for you trainees. This shipment is very important, as you know. My life’s work.”

The man in the green jacket didn’t look like he spent his days assembling rifles, but he also didn’t look like someone who was misinformed. He knew what was in the shipments. Jean remembered the smell of hyacinths and the skin-crawling sensation intensified.

“Pity you presented as an omega, though,” the man interrupted Jean’s thoughts in the worst way imaginable. Jean tensed. “I told Frederick I’d be more than willing to help you, but he kept insisting your mother wouldn’t approve. What nonsense. If things had turned out differently, we might have worked together after Frederick’s death, rather than me dealing with _Tchuberg_.”

“Greigrich!” a sergeant suddenly came running up the hall. “The meeting’s about to start!”

Jean felt relief course through him at the interruption; before the man in the green jacket could comment, he saluted and excused himself as best he could. The sergeant spared him a quick glance as they passed, but Jean was too busy trying to calm himself down.

His father’s work was supposed to _over_. Jean was _free_.

He clenched his fist as he stalked down the hall, trying to reassure himself. Once they delivered their stupid fake shipment and returned to training camp, he could put this all behind him. He _will_ put this all behind him. Just because the man in the green jacket had barged right back into his life, it didn’t mean Jean was going to let him.

This was Jean’s life. He had control.

There were a few alpha and omega Garrison soldiers watching him as he signed out; one mated couple and a single alpha taking a break. The single alpha had swiveled his head immediately in Jean’s direction the moment he’d walked in and he _wouldn’t look away_.

“One of the trainee boys?” he said to his friends. To his credit, it really didn’t seem like the guy expected Jean to hear him—but it annoyed Jean all the same. “Pretty cute, huh?”

The omega rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Garth, he’s way too young for you.”

“Hey, I can’t touch but I can look, right? And I mean objectively. God, you know I wouldn’t go for a kid. I just mean, he’s going to break a few alpha hearts soon.”

“Stop assuming all of us are gagging for knots,” the omega objected. “There’s nothing wrong with a kind-hearted beta boy, you know. Also, I’m not going to lie—your knot isn’t anything to write home about either.”

“ _One_ time, Nathan,” the lone alpha yelped, and the mated couple laughed at him.

Feeling uncomfortable and a little ashamed—for what, he didn’t know, he just _was_ — Jean slapped his pen down when he finished writing and fled back to the dining hall with as much grace as he could.

 

\--

 

Things just went downhill from there.

Jean continued to feel sluggish as he strapped on his backpack and headed over to untie his horses. They were leaving early and planned to arrive in Karanese by late afternoon, unless the bandits chose to attack them. Shadis had implied that there weren’t enough bandits to attack all the squads, and so the actual chance of having to face battle was low—but Jean had learned in the past year and a half that all things bad were possible. With his headache and general exhaustion from fighting with Marco and then being talked down to by the man in the green jacket, of all people? Come on, bandits, where are you?

And they did attack.

Of _course._

It had even been Jean’s fault they got caught, which was just the cherry on top. He’d been charged with flanking Armin’s left and was as attentive as he could be with a massive, debilitating migraine. The minute they rode into a forested area between Trost and Karanese, a wagon came barreling through the trees on Jean’s side. He had shot an anchor out with the intention of swinging towards the vehicle and derailing it before it crossed their paths—but missed the fucking tree. It ended up hooking onto some other foliage and yanked Jean so hard he fell off his horse, and shit. The wagon screeched to a stop.

And then bandits were pouring out and threatening them with guns and Eren was throwing Jean a dirty look, like _This is all your fault you fucking distracted bastard._

“It’s a fake,” one of the bandits reported when they finally wrestled the shipment boxes open. He turned the crate over and dumped empty canisters onto the floor. “You were right, Janus. Greigrich must have been _pissed_ when we took his precious bottles the first time. ”

Greigrich. That was the man in the green coat. Maybe he was some military… weapons specialist or something, that had worked with his dad. Unease blossomed in Jean’s chest, even as he tried stuffing it back down.

Something about this picture was nagging at him, trying to alert him that something was _wrong_.

There were ten bandits total surrounding the four of them: they’d tied Jean, Eren and Bertholdt together and kept Reiner chained to a tree. The bandits had put most of their effort beating Reiner unconscious, probably due to some sexist bullshit about alphas being the true threat. Which was probably untrue, because for once in his life Bertholdt looked absolutely thunderous. It was both awe-inspiring and terrifying to witness. Jean understood. He’d be pissed as all hell to see Marco beaten and tied up like an animal too.

Oh god, this was not the best time for his brain to begin betraying him.

“And the other two?” the loudest and most stereotypically bandit-like bandit shouted from his vantage point on a pile of rocks. Jean called him Douche-bandit in his head. “We took their horses. Did they get away?”

They had their 3-D maneuvering gear and they were in a goddamned forest, dumbass. But Douche-bandit wasn’t entirely wrong. There was no way Armin or Mikasa would leave Eren to play bitch to these clowns; hell, the fact that the two of them managed to escape just went to prove how stupid these bandits were.

“Let them go—we’ve got our orders. Damn shame. I’d like to squish one of these kids for wasting our time.” Douche-bandit growled, spitting into the ground. He got close enough for Jean to pick up his acrid alpha scent, and he had to use all his willpower not curl his lip. “ _Useless_.”

“You act like you’re from a bad mystery paperback,” Eren said, because he was a suicidal maniac. “No wonder the Garrison fielded this one to us.”

“Shut your mouth!” One of the henchmen smacked Eren across the face with the butt of his gun. Jean surprised even himself when he snarled, headache clearing for a brief moment of pure defensiveness. Sexist bullshit or not, it was still considered really low to beat on an omega—and dangerous too, given that an omega’s wrath could be just as bad as an alpha’s when provoked. Alphas seemed to know this instinctively; betas like this asshole needed a dozen or so rude reminders to get that into their heads. He stared at Jean like he hadn’t even realized he was there, before slowly grinning. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

Jean lost the reins on his omega-sense and felt his lip curl warningly. So this guy really was one of the dumb ones. Probably had an alpha-complex the size of the sun, too.

“You’re starting to smell fine, pretty,” the man said in a tone that would’ve made Jean’s skin crawl if he wasn’t so tired. “How ‘bout I take you for a spin later? My treat.”

Jean narrowed his eyes at him, hoping his glare would distract everyone from the slight wobble of his lips. Should he be afraid? They were, after all, tied up and completely defenseless—but this henchman looked like a smarmy stick that Jean could snap in half with a well-aimed kick. They’d have to untie his legs if they wanted to do anything, after all.

“Leave him alone,” Eren rose to his defense by growling, his mouth full of blood. His eyes flashed gold. “I’m going to slaughter all of you if you touch us. Rapist scum! Pedophiles!”

The henchmen made to kick him again, but Douche-bandit seemed to finally snap out of his tirade to yell, “Hey! Don’t go too far. The yearlings are off limits.”

Huh. So Douche-bandit was enough of an alpha to have a conscience, albeit a weak and unreliable one. Proving Jean’s point, dumb gun-wielding henchmen frowned. “But where’s the fun in that, boss? You alphas have your instincts, but I don’t have the same things holding me back. Besides, don’t you think that one’s cute?”

“You’re all sick,” Jean said, sluggishly working through his headache. It was downright embarrassing being so incapacitated in front of these dumbasses. “I’ll bite you.”

They laughed at him. The henchman even dared to stroke a finger down Jean’s cheek, and Jean really would have bitten him, he really _would’ve_ —except they still had guns trained to his head and no matter hot-tempered he was, Jean wanted to get out of this alive.

Another half hour passed before Douche-bandit gave some sort of signal. The henchmen started tearing through the squad’s backpacks and pocketing their supplies, leaving the three omegas alone to wallow in misery.

And what misery it was. Jean’s shitty-feeling level was quickly approaching unacceptable heights. Also, the pain. His vision swam. He blinked once, twice, and then shook his head to try and clear the spots. His fidgeting obviously bothered his fellow victims: Eren whipped his head so fast his blood spattered onto Jean’s cheek.

“Jean,” Eren hissed, as if Jean didn’t know who he was talking to with those damn green eyes boring holes into his face. “Jean, I think you’re going into heat.”

“What?” Jean said. That was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. No way was this migraine his heat—it was too early. Was it?

“What?” he repeated, furrowing his brow.

“Heat,” Eren said. “You know, that thing omegas go through every three months? You’ve been stuffing your face until today, and then you just… stopped. That’s classic feeding behavior, Jean. And you’re starting to reek.”

“I do not,” Jean retorted, but he was doing some frantic mental math and coming up with _oh, shit_. He’d been tallying the days until his next—real—heat for weeks, but he’d forgotten all about it in the whirlwind of fighting with Marco. Of course. Almost three months exactly, which would be impressively regular if Jean didn’t feel like he was being bowled over by a wagon.

“No,” he said, because this day _just kept getting worse_.

“I think it’s heat too,” Bertholdt said from his opposite side. He sounded uncharacteristically stern; one glance and Jean confirmed that the taller omega hadn’t moved his gaze an inch from Reiner’s limp form. “The very beginning of it. Jean.”

“ _No_ ,” Jean said more sternly, and froze when a henchman turned to look at them. When the guy turned back to his looting, Jean hissed into Eren’s face, “No, no, _no_.”

“Oh suck it up!” Eren said. “It’s our only chance—stop being such a cowardly dick.”

“I hate you,” Jean snapped. “I’m not playing _bait_.”

“You just don’t want to use your omega wiles on people,” Eren informed him haughtily. “Don’t look forward to eating your own words?”

“Fuck you, Eren! If this goes wrong, _you’re_ not the one that’ll get his ass reamed—”

“Guys,” Bertholdt warned lowly, shutting them both up.

Jean squeezed his eyes shut. He felt like he was slipping on ice, like the pain was going to blindside him any moment now and drive him down a slippery slope to hell. A slippery slope with his omega-sense waiting patiently for him, alert and eager as a hungry wolf.

Goddammit. Because Jean was better at coming up with plans than Eren, and even he could see that Eren’s strategy was probably the best one. He was going to have to do this anyway.

_Goddammit._

 

\--

 

This was a really bad idea.

“H-hey,” he whimpered loudly towards the group of henchmen. The smarmy one that had been hitting Eren like a punching bag was the first to notice, and grinned when Jean tilted his head down and tried to channel as much _Adorable Krista Lenz_ as possible without feeling utterly ridiculous. “Hey. I—I don’t feel so good. Can you untie me?”

“Darling,” the henchman drawled, walking over and kneeling down to Jean’s level. “You think I’d fall for a trick like that? You’d just run away.”

“Please,” Jean begged, and something deep inside of him recoiled immediately. Jean suspected it was his omega-sense coming to a full, horrifying realization of how Jean was perverting its hard work to get into Marco’s pants. “I don’t want to run. I just—it’s so embarrassing.”

The henchman’s eyes lit up. “Hey, no worries. I can help you with that.”

He leaned forward right into Jean’s space, so close Jean was smothered in overpowering, sour beta scent. He stiffened instinctually and then cursed himself for giving it away, but the bandit was too stupid to notice. Thank god.

“You just need a guiding hand, that’s all,” the henchman purred, stroking said bony hand down Jean’s cheek. He trailed it down Jean’s side and rested his fingers on Jean’s hip. “It’s not that bad if you take care of it fast.”

Jean frowned and tried to look innocent. The expression felt wrong on his face. “How do you do that?”

“You just need to get off a few times,” the creep said, licking his lips. “It’s okay—I know this is all very scary the first time, but I’ve been through a lot. I can show you the best way.”

He took a knife out from his pocket and pressed it to the ropes tied around Jean’s ankles. He was too close and too eager and Jean wanted nothing more than to smack him for even saying half the shit he said—and god, his headache was splitting his head open. _Stick to the plan_. The blade was within reach.

“What are you doing?” Jean said, only half having to fake the nervousness in his voice. “Wait—why are you untying my legs?”

The henchman grinned, sawing through the rope. “How can I help you if I can’t touch you anywhere important?”

Jean’s gaze fell to the henchman’s stupid, spindly hands and—and then Jean realized what had gotten his subconscious so riled up since the bandits had attacked, and he almost dropped his façade in shock. The bandit had a silver ring on his finger, plain and patterned with interlocking circles. All the bandits had matching rings.

Jean _knew_ it was the same one he’d grown familiar with, tracing the circles with a finger and so why did they—

And then the ropes fell away.

Jean kicked the bandit square in the chest. He stumbled back in shock and dropped his blade. Jean kicked a few more times, as if he was scared and managed to slide the blade towards Eren’s wriggling hands behind him while kicking up enough dust to send everyone into a coughing fit.

“Dammit!” the bandit sat up when he recovered enough and grabbed a handful of Jean’s hair, yanking his head back. “Who do you think you are?”

“I’m sorry,” Jean gasped. His scalp stung so painfully it cut through his foggy haze like a knife. “I’m sorry, I panicked. I didn’t know what you were doing!”

“You damn well knew what I was doing!” the henchman growled, yanking Jean’s hair again. He didn’t have to fake the cry that fell out of his mouth then—he wouldn’t even be surprised if the entire handful of hair tore out that moment. “Didn’t we agree I’d take care of you? Don’t fight me!”

“Hey!” another bandit called out from where he was folding up a pack. “What’s going on?”

“The bitch kicked me,” the henchman spat. “After I offered to help him.”

“Help him?” the other bandit—he looked younger than the rest, so maybe Young-bandit?—frowned and took a step towards them. “You know these are yearlings, right? And Janus told you to keep your dirty paws off of them.”

“This one needs help, though,” the henchman jerked his head at Jean. Jean risked glancing down at Eren’s hands and seeing him fumbling with the blade, trying to saw the ropes backwards and blind. Goddammit. Eren caught his glance and jerked his chin towards the bandits— _keep them distracted_.

“Yeah, from his own hand or another yearling,” Young-bandit said after stopping in front of the henchman and giving Jean a cursory whiff. “He doesn’t need _you_ helping him, old man.”

This close, Jean could smell him too: an omega.

He hadn’t realized there was another omega amongst the bandits—they seemed like the kind of douchey sexist bandwagon that’d keep it an alpha and beta boy’s club—but in hindsight it made sense. Omegas stabilized large groups like this; without at least one, a bunch of macho alpha and betas would fall into chaos in seconds.

Unfortunately, Young-bandit seemed outnumbered.

“What are you going to do about it, August?” the henchman sneered before finally letting go of Jean’s hair. Jean fell back down with a wince. “What’s to stop me from riding your bitch ass as well?”

“Not your turn,” Young-bandit—August’s—face looked pinched, and that seemed to be the extent of the help he was going to give. Until he took a better look at Jean and did a double take. Jean did the same. “Wait. Doesn’t he look familiar to you?”

Funny, Jean was just thinking the same thing. Where had he seen this guy before?

“What?” The henchman scowled, obviously pissed that the other guy wasn’t leaving him alone to have his fun.

“He looks familiar. What’s your name, boy?” August asked, and Jean barely suppressed the urge to throw a questioning glance at Eren. Would it help or hurt to reveal his real name? Did it matter? The longer he stalled, the longer Eren had to free himself.

“Jean,” he gritted out. “Jean Kirstein.”

He jumped when the younger bandit began cursing.

“Oh-ho!” the henchman seemed actually thrilled despite August’s panic. “You’re Kirstein’s boy! What are the chances?”

“Stop thinking with your dick, Victor!” August snapped. “If Greigrich finds out you’ve touched Kirstein’s kid—”

“I’m not scared of that knothead.”

“Then you’re a damn fool! We’ve a plan, and if you’re going to just waste a year and a half’s work I’m not going to just stand by and watch you do it.”

“Stop being such a bitch,” Victor the Creep rolled his eyes. “What’s Greigrich going to do? Come after us some more? Besides, after the shit Kirstein put us through…” he licked his lips at Jean, “…this is the least we can do.”

Jean felt sick to his stomach. He didn’t know what was happening, and the situation was spiraling out of control. They wore the same silver ring Marco did. Marco, who had stuck by Jean for some indescribable reason and Jean had thought it’d been because—that they—

August’s face looked familiar. A hooded figure on horseback, privy to Marco’s secrets when even Jean was barricaded out. A group of bandits working against the government who had at least one member planted amongst their ranks and _that member was Marco_ —

No. Fuck, this was crazy. Jean pushed the panicking thoughts out of his mind, because he had more urgent matters at hand.

He drew a breath and tried focusing on the plan. Eren was working on the ropes. They were getting out of here.

August threw the other henchman a thoroughly scathing glare and stepped back. “I’m telling Janus, and after that I’m going to tell the boss.”

“Go ahead,” the other henchman sneered. “Roll onto your belly like a bitch.”

“If you fuck this up, I’m letting him know exactly who’s responsible. I’m indispensable; you’re not.”

Victor grinned. “But I can still make you scream real good before going, darling.”

And then he reached over and grabbed Jean’s legs, spreading them open. Jean immediately pressed his knees together, resulting in a surprisingly long fight where he continuously struggled and kicked and used his time in the military to his full advantage. Because the panic he was feeling was very real, even if he knew he could stop it all with one strategic jab to the crotch. With a snarl, the henchman lost patience and brought a fist down hard on the top of Jean’s foot. Jean bit his lip to keep from screaming. The pain immobilized him enough for the henchman to yank Jean’s legs wide open and force them to stay there with a hand.

“I know you’re scared,” Victor purred and traced his fingers down the inside of Jean’s thigh. Every touch felt like a hideous fire, burning so against the current of Jean’s omega-sense he was started to thrum with the energy of _not_ going psycho. It felt more than wrong, brushing up against the grain, rage pooling in his stomach. _Follow the plan. Follow the plan_. “But it’s okay. This is all perfectly natural. I’ll show you how to take care of yourself, and you’ll thank me when it’s over, alright?”

 _Follow the plan_.

Eren lurched up and sank the blade deep into the henchman’s forearm. Which _wasn't_ part of the plan at all.  


The bandit howled. The noise was strangled and horrible and deserved, but it alerted the other bandits of what was going on. They ran back to the trainees at the noise, guns cocked and _shit_ , this was happening way too fast. Jean was smacked in the face when the henchman jerked away, dislodging the blade and scrabbling at the bleeding wound. Red soaked through his shirt and filled the air with the rancid smell of desperation and _blood_ and he was cursing. “Dammit! Goddammit!”

Eren frantically worked the red-soaked blade against the ropes tying his foot, but was interrupted when one of the other bandits grabbed his arms. Eren twisted away and jabbed at the bandit the knife, missing every time until the bandit grabbed Eren’s wrist. Jean tried kicking the man’s legs out from under him but he was out of reach. He watched in horror when the dick hit Eren in the face once, twice, and then a third time when Eren snarled threateningly and tried to bite his forearm. The third hit Eren dropped the blade, doubling over and spitting up blood onto the dirt floor.

Bertholdt looked on the scene with his face as white as a sheet.

Victor stopped clutching his bleeding wound and dove right into Jean’s space, eyes wild with fury. He gripped Jean’s chin and growled, “You’ll wish you never did that.”

And then the bastard curled his hand around the back of Jean’s neck.

That dumb fuck.

That was the last thought Jean had before his omega-sense _lost it_. With a roar, he bashed his head against the henchman so hard the guy almost pulled his chin off in surprise. Jean snapped forward and sank his teeth into his fingers—biting two of them clean off.

“Holy _shit!_ ” Victor screamed, sounding considerately more hysterical while he clutched his blood-soaked hand to his chest. August, who had ran back the moment the commotion started, immediately rammed the end of his rifle into Jean’s temple and kept it there.

“I don’t want to fire this,” the other omega warned. “Don’t force my hand.”

Jean’s mouth tasted metallic with revenge. He spat the bloody fingers out onto the dirt and felt a surge of triumph when he saw the silver ring amongst the wreckage.

“Well, well. Don’t want to fuck him much now, huh?” Douche-bandit drawled as he walked towards the gibbering, injured henchman. He stopped just far enough to be away from Jean to be kicked, that bastard, and tutted at Jean like he was a misbehaving pet. “Fortunately for you, August has told me who you are. Greigrich has always been a sentimental old fool, and you’re in too good of a position right now to kill.”

Lovely.

“But we still need to set an example now, don’t we? Thankfully for us, your friends are much more dispensable.”

He nodded at August, who slowly moved his gun from Jean’s head to Eren’s. Eren flinched but looked no less murderous, snarling up at the gun against his head like an enraged animal. To his credit, the younger bandit looked unhappy with the situation. Like, he wasn’t going to hesitate in pulling that trigger but it didn’t mean he _preferred_ killing.

Yeah, like that made it any better.

And then Jean caught sight of something in the air. _Oh thank god_.

“Do i—” was all Douche-bandit managed to get out before Mikasa Ackerman flew in from the sky like an avenging angel and bashed his head in with her foot.

Beautiful, talented, and ferociously touch-my-Eren-and-die crazy Mikasa. Save-the-day Mikasa. Gorgeous, if-she-would-give-me-a-chance Mikasa. Hey, his crush on her didn’t come from nowhere.

August whipped the gun off Eren’s temple to point at Mikasa. Mikasa smacked it out of his hands, knocked him out, and then proceeded to drop-kick the rest of the slack-jawed bandits so hard even Jean saw stars. She knocked the creepy Jean-touching henchman close enough for Jean to lift his foot up and ram it into the asshole’s crotch—doing what he would’ve done earlier, because biting off his fingers wasn’t enough to make up for how fucking dirty Jean felt with that sour beta scent crawling all over him. He kicked him over and over until Mikasa was finished, and then he didn’t have an excuse for violence anymore.

The whole thing was over in seconds.

She stood over their bodies in a towering rage. “Eren, are you alright? Are you okay? They beat you didn’t they? How bad did it hurt?”

Eren coughed again, more bloody spit dribbling into the dirt. “Mikasa, I’m fine.”

“They hit us,” Jean blurted out, because he had to somehow explain the blood dribbling down his chin and the fingers lying in the ground in front of him. God forbid she learned the truth.

Mikasa narrowed her eyes and looked ready to carve out the bandits’ dicks out with her blade. Eren kicked Jean viciously with his still-tied-up legs. “Which wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t fallen off your damn horse!”  
  
“Yes, because spreading my legs doesn’t make up for that,” Jean snapped back, still feeling the crawling sensation of the henchman’s hand on his thigh. He was alternatively disgusted and woozy. “And you’re the one that broke our cover! _And_ dropped the blade in the end!”

“You could’ve distracted them longer!” Eren argued back. He grabbed the blade in question and freed his own legs before turning to viciously saw at the ropes binding Jean’s wrists. “Didn’t know the Naturalists were doing so poorly they stooped to _banditing_. And raping. Like every bandit and rogue stereotype ever, come _on._ ”

“What?” Jean said, caught completely unaware. Naturalists?  


Eren narrowed his eyes at him. “And how do _you_ know them? You’re from Trost.”

“I don’t know them. How do _you_ know them?”

“I don’t _know_ them,” Eren said, and god this conversation was starting to get needlessly convoluted, “but I’ve _heard_ of them, especially ‘cause they kept mentioning Greigrich—”

Which was all he got out before Bertholdt interrupted, “Mikasa, get Reiner down, please, _please_.”

Mikasa looked at Reiner still tied up and knocked out and looked back down at the omegas.

“Let me check Eren first,” she allowed. The process was thankfully short but embarrassing on Eren’s part—“Mikasa, I am fine! It’s just a bruise—I’ve had worse happen, it’s okay,” followed by “Eren, if they’re so unscrupulous they touched any of you, they could’ve done things to you while unconscious, I’m just making sure”—and when Mikasa was grudgingly satisfied, she then turned around and broke Reiner free.

Bertholdt ran right up to Reiner’s slumped form and hugged him close.

Jean looked on enviously. _He’d_ been the one felt up, after all; didn’t he deserve some comforting? Sure, he probably could have kicked the guy’s balls the moment he touched him, but that wouldn’t have helped give Eren more _time_. And the thing with his father made him nervous. And sick. Hell, now that the adrenaline had faded his headache was returning with a vengeance that threatened to throw his thoughts out the window altogether.

“…government.”

Jean blinked. “What?”

“Naturalists? Experiments? Were you even listening to me?” Eren snapped at him, and Jean had the distinct feeling that what he was saying was actually important. He just couldn’t focus on that now. He turned to Mikasa –ignoring Eren’s indignant growl at being ignored—and asked, “Armin?”

“He went ahead to Karanese to alert the officers of the bandits.” Mikasa put a hand on Eren’s arm and shook her head, holding a silent conversation with the other omega at the same time she spoke to Jean. “They’ll likely send a squad out to retrieve them for information. I found the horses by a nearby pond—we’ll head out after we get the bandits secure.”

She didn’t look very happy, and Eren frowned at her. “What?”

“This was too easy,” Mikasa muttered, and then turned to survey the groaning bandits on the floor. Her gaze flickered up at Jean and froze there. What? Was there something on his face? Her expression morphed into something strange and cautious, brow furrowed in concern.

Once upon a time, that one expression would have made Jean’s heart soar. It actually surprised Jean when he realized that he just… didn’t care.

Jean curled his hands into fists so tight his fingernails dug into his palm. Mikasa stepped closer to him. Her mouth moved, and it took Jean second to realize she was talking. “…don’t think you’re okay. You should calm down.”

“I am calm. I’m fine,” Jean tried to say, but realized the words were coming out slurred. Okay that wasn’t good. When focusing on the objects in front of him failed to stop his swaying, he stumbled onto his knees and braced himself against the ground. “I’m…”

“Jean!”

Hands by his side. Green eyes. Eren? Jean would laugh—omega solidarity at its finest—except everything was beginning to get fuzzy on the edges and if Jean opened his mouth, he was going to hurl. Heat combined with adrenaline combined with uncontrolled exercise of his omega-sense was a really, really bad idea, and it was like the consequences of it all had suddenly decided to burst forth at once now that he was out of immediate danger. _Holy shit_ , was all he managed before it barreled into him full-force.

The world tipped sideways and everything went excruciatingly, suddenly _white_.

 

\--

 

He drifted into nothingness.

Familiar hands pulled him back into semi-awareness, gripping his waist and throwing him carelessly over a narrow shoulder. Wax and sugar and burning wick. Jean tried to wriggle away, to no avail. He didn’t like being taken care of like this. He didn’t like being weak in front of them like this. He didn’t like— _wasn’t going_ —to submit like this.

Hands he didn’t like touching his skin and leaving marks like that beta scent still clinging to him—making everything worse.

More cursing. The downside to Eren being such wiry stick was that he could easily twist to accommodate Jean’s scrambling. Conversation. Even Bertholdt’s low voice seemed to carry an opinion, and it all washed over him like a tide.

An indeterminable time later, another pair of hands pressed against his skin. One soothed his forehead, large and warm, while the other wrapped around his shoulders. A voice spoke to him calmly as Jean stumbled against someone’s side. One step at a time, every lift of his foot excruciating.

Cool sheets against his smarting nape. The hand again, running through his hair, and Jean didn’t want it to stop. He turned to press his nose into a dry palm and breathed. There wasn’t much of a scent beneath the leather straps and paper pressed too long against skin. Mostly nothing but a faint tinge of cinnamon.

“Jean,” Marco said clearly. He removed his hand—Jean wrinkled his nose in displeasure—but he didn’t leave. Jean couldn’t see him, but he could sense him and smell him and hear him sitting quietly beside Jean’s bed.

Jean wanted that hand to touch him again—some part of ached for it—but this was also good. That familiar warmth beside him was safe and home and enough reassurance Jean didn’t feel completely defenseless when he finally, _finally_ drifted off to sleep.

 

\--

 

Downstairs while Jean was sleeping, certain people _weren't_ feeling reassured and safe.

“You _promised_ , August!” Marco snapped, closer to the jail cell bars than advisable but not giving a damn. It had been laughably easy to convince the prison guard to take a water break and leave security in his hands. Not enough to break the Naturalists out—which wasn’t according to plan, anyway, they had a mission to do—but enough to give his friend a tongue-lashing.

August leveled him a cold look from within the cell, back pressed to the wall. “What happened to ‘I promise not to get close’, huh? And _I_ wasn’t the one who hurt him, it was _this_ asshole here.”

Marco’s gaze flickered to the sneering form of Victor in the back corner before returning to his friend. “Jean is _my_ responsibility, August. I don’t interfere with your job, and you don’t interfere with mine.”

“That act might work for others,” August said, “but not for me. Greigrich is undermining us at every turn, and if there’s an advantage in—”

“In what? Traumatizing Jean?”

“Breaking him,” August said calmly. “And watching Greigrich burn.”

“I can’t even speak to you right now,” Marco hissed, turning his back on his—his fellow rebels, he supposed, but the word lay heavy on his tongue.

He stepped to the doors and flinched when something banged loudly on the cell bars. Marco whirled around and glared at August, who just wrapped his hands around the bars and tutted at him.

“Stop throwing a tantrum,” he said, having the nerve to roll his eyes. He reached into an inner pocket and pulled out a necklace: it was simple leather and adorned with an amulet curved in a similar pattern to their rings. “You’ll need this.”

Marco didn’t move.

“For security, you idiot,” August shook the amulet at him. “They know you’re from Jinae—it’s gonna get real dicey up there when things go to shit, so you need all the help you can get. This’ll get you past at least one interrogation.”

“Fine,” Marco strode over and snatched the necklace from his hand. He opened his mouth to say something scathing but found himself drawing a blank. He squeezed his eyes shut and started again.

“August,” he said in a smaller voice than he’d intended, anger gone and replaced with an almost childlike pleading. “Just—don’t do anything too bad. Please.”

The bandit leaned against the rough, dungeon wall and simply said: “I’ll try.”

And before Marco could work up a response, the door opened and the soldier strutted back in.

“Thank you so much,” she said, giving Marco a wavering grin. “Just don’t let Sergeant Adelaide know I stepped out—I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Of course, miss,” Marco said warmly. He stepped past her and pressed a hand to the door. “It’s my pleasure.”

August said nothing as he watched Marco go, and Marco didn’t once glance back to look at him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot is kind of at a confusing stage right now; things will become clearer as the Naturalist's plot unfolds!
> 
> For now, here's what we know: the Naturalists are a rebel group working against the government (specifically against Greigrich and Jean's dad.) Marco is a member of Naturalists.
> 
> Also (this was referred to in Chapter 1, now it makes more sense here): Greigrich's group assumed the Naturalists were responsible for Frederick Kirstein's death.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’ll find another way,” his father continued. “If something happened to Jean, Celine would never forgive me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has plot, some violence, and a crap ton of exposition. Apologies in advance.

 

8.

Jean was five years old.

He sat in his chair kicking his feet back and forth, back and forth, while his father and the man in the green jacket sipped hot tea at the kitchen table.

“One drop a day,” the man in the green jacket was saying. And two drops the year before he presents. It’ll be free of course, Frederick; you’re an old friend, after all.”

“Jean could be an alpha,” his dad replied, and the man in the green jacket had the gall to snort.

“I doubt it. And if he was supposed to be a beta anyway—what would it hurt?”

“I appreciate your offer to help, Sebastian,” his dad said. “But I can’t.”

The man in the green jacket sighed and looked down at Jean. Jean glanced up at him curiously. He watched as the man reached into his green jacket and took out a gleaming silver canister. When he unscrewed the top, his father flinched.

“Sebastian!”

“A little whiff won’t hurt him,” the man in the green jacket said. He beckoned to Jean. “Jean, be a good boy and smell this, will you?”

Jean wasn’t used to being ordered about by people who weren’t his parents, and so he looked at his father for confirmation. While his father looked thoroughly unhappy at the situation, he didn’t shake his head. Jean leaned over the table and breathed in.

Metal. Oil. Flowers… the pretty kind that bloomed in bunches outside their doorstep. Wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

Jean shot back with a little cry and covered his face.

“Omega,” the man in the green jacket announced, sounding almost smug. He screwed the cap back onto the canister and nodded at Jean’s father. “Your son is set to inherit the business, isn’t he? Wouldn’t it be safer to expose him now?”

His father’s lips thinned. “No.”

Despite not fully understanding what was happening, Jean felt like he’d somehow failed. He didn’t like failing his father. He didn’t see him enough to make up for it.

“We’ll find another way,” his father continued. “If something happened to Jean, Celine would never forgive me.”

“So you’re just going to let Tchuberg inherit, is that it?” the man in the green jacket looked disgusted. “Jacob is scum. The man can’t even bother acting civil with the betas; just last month he almost pummeled one of the Jinae councilmen into the ground. And they’re the _nicer_ village. Can’t wait to see what he’ll do when they start throwing cabbages at his head in Astoria.”

“I’m not happy with the situation either, Sebastian. If I had my way, I’d start Jean right now and bring him with me. But that’s out of the question.”

His father stood up, and Jean felt very, very small.

“He can’t ever be a part of this.”

The man in the green jacket leaned back in his chair and took out a pipe from his left breast pocket. He lit it and took one, two puffs and blew the smoke into his father’s face.

“Very well, Frederick,” he finally said. “Very well.”

“Jean?” his mother’s voice suddenly called from outside the kitchen, breaking the tense atmosphere in an instant. Jean felt as if he’d been shaken from a reverie. “Where are you? It’s time for your bath!”

“Coming!” Jean said, and before his father could object, hopped off the chair and ran out of the room. Away from his father’s disapproving stare and the man in the green jacket and that silver canister, with the oil that smelled sickeningly like flowers.

 

\--

 

He woke up feeling like his insides were being boiled alive. Jean jerked upright and winced when the world spun accordingly.

“Hey, easy,” a voice said and an accompanying hand steadied his elbow. Bertholdt? Jean allowed himself to be laid back down, panic thrumming just under his skin. He was still hot—too hot, he needed these blankets _off_ —but the pain that had woken him up was fast dissipating as it spread to his fingers and toes.

“On a scale of one to ten, how much do you want to fuck me?” Eren’s voice interrupted Jean’s frantic catalogue of himself. Jean blinked upwards into a piercing light. Bertholdt and Eren? He could’ve sworn it had been Marco that…

Except he wouldn’t put it past his twisted-omega sense to come up with some kind of elaborate hallucination to comfort him. Had it all been a dream? Jean’s panic increased tenfold. Shit, were the three of them still trapped with the bandits?

But no, the light was a lantern, and Jean was definitely lying in a bed.

And then he actually processed what Eren said.

“What?” Jean managed.

“How horny are you?” Eren enunciated slowly like Jean was an idiot. He loomed over him. “Can’t get it up like my dick just died, or hallelujah, a thousand naked Marcos?”

“ _What_?”

“Eren,” Bertholdt sighed. To Jean, he said gently, “We’re just wondering how severe your heat is. Armin was worried that the stress of what happened was enough to disturb your heat—he just went to get a thermometer, but he wanted us to check—”

“—if you were randy,” Eren butted in. “Like, would you fuck your worst rival kind of randy.”

“Your logic is flawed,” Jean decided, because snarking at Eren was better than focusing on his melting insides and subsequently freaking out about it. “I don’t need to be desperate to fuck you. I’ve already fucked you.”

“We agreed never to mention that!” Eren hissed.

“Then why do you keep asking?” Jean snapped back. “Is this is some sort of coded way to get me to finger you again? Lost your vagina already, Jaeger?”

“You horse-faced asshole—”

“I’ll show you an asshole!”

Eren paused long enough for Jean to realize what he’d just said. He flushed red. “That’s not what I meant!”

“He’s not doing too bad if he can still bitch,” Eren told Bertholdt like Jean couldn’t hear him. “I told you Marco was just being overprotective.”

Jean’s skin burned red at the vague memory of Marco sitting by his side, hand caressing his cheek and _oh no oh no_. His dick wasn’t allowed to be interested in that. Marco didn’t like him that way.

 _But he does_ , his omega-sense purred insistently, dredging up the memory of Marco’s lips kissing his inner thigh and _no_. NO. _You can show him how good you are_. _How good you can be_.

 _Shut up_ , he barked at the stupid animal brain, right as Armin burst through the door.

“Found one!” the blond said, waving a thermometer about. “Had to argue fifteen minutes with the medical staff because the trainees were all supposed to be downstairs at the sentencing—oh, Jean! You’re awake.”

“I don’t want to fuck Eren,” Jean said, because he could smell a medical grilling yards away and he wanted to get it over with. Eren looked affronted, and then horrified that he’d looked affronted because what, did he _want_ to fuck Jean?

Jean’s headache intensified.

“No desire at all?” Armin pressed, and Jean scowled at him.

“ _No._ And before you ask, I don’t want to sleep with any of you guys either. No offense.”

Armin tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Right, right, Marco went to find a sergeant.”

“You guys do realize we’re still _fighting,_ right?” Jean narrowed his eyes at everyone. Bertholdt at least had the decency to look guilty, but Armin and Eren didn’t even blink at him. “Just because my heat’s thrown me out of whack doesn’t mean I’m not still _pissed as all hell_ at the guy. Can you please stop mentioning him?”

“You don’t want us to stop mentioning him,” Eren pointed out. Jean wanted to throw something at his stupid, idiot face. “It’s not like we don’t all know anyway.”

Jean glared at him, “Know _what_?”

Eren groaned. “You are guys are _revoltingly_ smitten with each other and you ask—”

“We know you’re still friends. No matter what you say,” Armin interrupted hurriedly before Jean could, you know, lunge at Eren and claw off his face. He pulled up a stool and sat right by Jean’s cot. He stuck the thermometer out and Jean, after brief and violent fantasy about jamming it into Armin’s eye, grudgingly opened his mouth and let him put it under his tongue. “You scared us when you fainted like that, Jean. Never saw Marco that protective, either. He took you up here and wouldn’t even let the medical staff in when they came up. I had to ask them what to look for myself before coming in to see you. Do you understand?”

When Armin stared at him expectantly, Jean pointed at the thermometer in his mouth. The blond looked abashed and took it out.

“That Marco’s a creepy idiot who won’t let professionals help me?” Jean said once his tongue was free. “Yes, I understand.”

Armin sighed, looking disappointed at Jean’s stubborn childishness like _God_ , _I know you know I know so why the hell are you making this so difficult?_ He glanced down at the thermometer in his hands.

“Your temperature’s a tiny bit high for an omega going into his first sexual heat. Do you feel hot? Are you nauseous? Do you feel like you’re going to faint?”

“Armin,” Eren chided.

“Well, it is hot,” Jean said. They all looked down to where Jean had kicked the covers off the bed, lying only in his jacket and shirt and pants on the cot. At least they’d taken off his boots. “Not nauseous anymore. A bit weak, but not so much I’m going to fall over.”

“And your glands?”

“The one on my neck is sore. The others are fine. Anything else, Doctor?” Jean couldn’t help the sarcasm bleeding into his voice.

“Are you slick?” Armin said bluntly. Jean’s cheeks burned and the other omegas looked likewise uncomfortable. Armin blushed but continued, defensive, “What? It’s a valid question!”

“Uh,” Jean said, wishing he hadn’t been so weak as to daydream about Marco a few minutes ago. Dammit. He raised his chin. “Nope.”

“Liar,” Eren muttered, sniffing the air conspicuously, and Jean kicked him.

“ _Jean_ ,” Armin said.

He groaned. “Fine, fine. A little? But not. Soaked or anything. Are you done now?”

“Well everything _look_ s normal,” Armin hedged, “But I’d play it safe for now. Try to keep away from stress, drink plenty of fluids and, ah. Take care of your business the best you can, alright? Seeing as you fainted before, you’re at risk of going into a heat frenzy.”

A what? Armin glanced pointedly at Eren and—oh. Jean paled at the memory of sobbing, writhing Eren, because it was one of the few times he’d honestly felt sorry for the guy. _Oh_. Eren looked confused at their silent exchange, because Eren was an oblivious, titan-obsessed idiot who couldn’t read body language for shit and _dammit,_ that had unfortunate implications in the Marco dilemma because _Eren had noticed_.

“Meanwhile, I’ll go check in with the doctors,” Armin was still speaking as he stood. “But I need to tell Marco you’re awake first. Is that okay?”

Jean glared at him. What was the point of that question? It wasn’t as if he could wrestle Armin into a closet and tape his mouth shut in his current condition. They might as well get on with it. He opened his mouth to say something sarcastic or awful or awfully sarcastic and—

And Armin was staring at him and Eren was looking exasperated and Bertholdt was drilling holes into the ground with his eyes and ugh, Jean began to feel guilty. They all looked so _tired_. In that moment, it really hit him how they’d all been worried for him.

God, Jean was such a little shit. If this was how the others all were, Marco was probably going out of his mind with crazy.

“Fine,” he relented. Armin beamed at him so brightly Jean wanted to shield his eyes, so he added, “But tell him to knock that controlling shit off. Seriously, Marco’s usually such a goody two-shoes with the adults, how does this even happen?”

“No guarantees,” Armin shrugged before making his escape, leaving the omegas alone in pained, awkward silence. Jean didn’t need to sniff the air to know the scent of his slick was getting _everywhere._

Finally, Eren tilted his head and kind of went all up in Jean’s face, green eyes determined: “Is this time for me to return the favor?”

“Out,” Jean demanded. “Out, out, out. I’m awake now, I don’t need babysitters. And I definitely don’t need your help, Eren. I can find my own vagina easily, thank you very much.”

“Uh,” Bertholdt said.

“Marco wanted to make sure you weren’t alone,” Eren translated, and Jean actually chucked his pillow at him.

“Do I look like I give a flying fuck what Marco wants? No! I’m fine, and I’d like some—some peace and quiet—” And guiltily jack off while thinking of the boy’s cinnamon scent, but the other two omegas were tasteful enough not to mention the increased pungency of slick in the air “—so _leave_.”

“Fine,” Eren snapped, patience coming to end. He stood up and threw a glance at Bertholdt. “C’mon, Bert, let’s go.”

The taller brunet hesitated; he was the more perceptive of the two, and more likely to see through Jean’s bullshit. But even so, Jean was banking on Bertholdt’s fear of conflict to override his more accurate reading of the situation.

It paid to be right, because the older boy just nodded and went to the door. Jean kept his face blank, even when a spike of panic began forming in his gut. That tiny voice that had been freaking out since day one was growing louder despite his efforts to squash it: no, no, no, don’t leave me alone with this wolf lurking in the shadows; I can’t do this by myself; I have no fucking idea what I am doing; and I hate it.

Marco would have seen through Jean’s bullshit in a second, but most people weren’t Marco. The door shut.

Jean was _alone._

He winced and sat back down onto the cot, his heartbeat thumping in his ears. It took him incredible effort to resist curling up into a ball and wishing silently that he could take it all back. Stupid instincts. Omegas liked each other’s company, especially when stressed, and Jean was so far past stressed it would be funny if it hadn’t been him, you know, as the butt of the joke. And speaking of butts…

Getting off. Heat frenzy imminent. That's right. He could do that, at least.

It took only fifteen minutes for Jean to give up.

He was furious. He was lonely. He wasn’t even close to getting off. No matter how hard Jean ached or how soaked his pants were, a wall of steel stood between him and his orgasm and it was _driving him insane_.

‘If he couldn’t be comfortable by himself,’ the crazed part of his brain whispered softly, then louder, then even louder than that, ‘Then better go find someone to be with.’

And while Jean had no aspirations to flaunt his heat to the world, he was desperate. And desperate guys did a lot of stupid things. Like leaving a controlled environment tailored for Jean’s privacy, heading to an unknown location where neither of his fellow male omegas could find him, and risking the possibility of throwing himself at the first knothead he saw.

_Stupid things._

After dressing himself, stumbling out of bed, and looking for his boots, Jean managed to slip out the door and stumble his way downstairs. Armin had said something before he left, hadn’t he? That the trainees were all downstairs at the sentencing?

Trying hard to ignore how fever-hot his skin felt, Jean headed down the stairwell.

 

\--

 

The entrance to the courtroom was impossible to miss. Rows of bored-looking trainees lined the three walls, all facing a stage and narrow podium at the very back of the room. Garrison soldiers held bandits on both ends of the stage, one side holding sentenced bandits and the other holding those awaiting judgment.

A severe looking woman stood at the podium.

“…for your crimes, you will be sentenced to three years working the Forge Mines,” she intoned, sounding bored. Jean froze when he realized that the bandit kneeling before her was the one that had felt him up—Victor McCreepface. He looked thin and sickly and stupid, baring his teeth at an _alpha_ , and the senior officer obviously had no patience for this kind of shit. She waved a hand and her subordinates dragged him off to the other end of the podium. That was it. Creepy-bandit was done, sentenced to some hard labor when all Jean wanted to do was bite off the rest of his fingers and throw him off a cliff.

Jean edged his way towards the seats. Goddamn omega instincts. Seriously, his ego could not stand the crippling embarrassment of people realizing he was there—no, that was stupidly optimistic. They’d probably sensed him already, he was an omega in heat. Thank god the Garrison soldiers were all old enough to behave and the trainees too young to care. He shuffled behind the distracted audience and scanned the rows one by one, ignoring any strange looks thrown his way.

He was in the middle of scanning a new row when he crashed right into Marco.

“Jean?” Marco yelped, hands automatically reaching out to steady him. Jean was too surprised to pretend he was angry. Evidently, heat and surprise and a hot Marco Bodt was enough to short out his brain.

“Hey,” Jean finally managed to say. “What’s up?”

Lame.

“Armin told me you were awake,” Marco said. He glanced around and gently pulled them towards the back wall where they could talk. Jean let him, even when Marco opened his mouth and said: “After getting yourself injured while awaiting rescue.”

Jean responded on autopilot. “Awaiting—being a damsel was not in my plans!”

“You have plans?”

“I have the best of plans,” Jean tried to scowl, but he suspected it came across more as an constipated frown, “But you’re messing them up. I come all the way down here and all I get is you insulting me.”

“You deserve it.”

“Hey,” Jean complained, and it was Marco’s strange silence that finally clued him in on something being off. The bastard loved teasing Jean at every turn, chuckling at their banter and finding new ways to make him smile. This Marco was as wry as ever, but not… fun.

Actually, now that Jean was taking a closer look, the guy looked _anxious._

He hadn’t let go of Jean’s shoulders. Jean blinked as the Marco took a step forward, right into his personal space with a long enough pause for Jean to pull back if he’d wanted—

Marco wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tight against his chest. To his horror, Jean felt himself blinking back tears. Goddamn omega-sense still hadn’t caught up with the mad-at-Marco program. He turned his head and pressed his nose against Marco’s shoulder, breathing in that familiar, comforting scent and letting it chase the lingering beta-smell away. Marco was so warm and solid here, hand coming up to scratch through the short hair above his neck and fuck, _fuck._

He clung to the other boy like a limpet, allowing himself this one brief moment to feel all the feelings he didn’t want to feel.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Marco mumbled when he finally pulled back. “Are you alright? Does anything hurt? Did you walk all the way down here by yourself?”

“I’m a big boy,” Jean said, letting the other boy smooth his wrinkled jacket and fix his collar. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“You _fainted_ ,” Marco said. “Because you’d gone in _heat_ , and Victor should have never—”

Jean crossed his arms and turned away, “I’d like to think I got my own back with his fingers.”

“You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“Well I _did,”_ Jean couldn’t help but snap. “We can’t help what should or shouldn’t happen.”

Marco’s expression fell at Jean's sharp tone. He tried his best to tamp down the guilt, especially when the brunet said: “It’s just…"

“Hey,” Jean said awkwardly, realizing he’d have to do damage control when Marco’s mouth did that wobbling thing that meant he was worried out of his mind. “Everything worked out. I’m right here.” He only hesitated a second before moving forward and pressing their foreheads together. “I’m fine. _”_

Marco didn’t look convinced, but at least he didn’t argue. He slowly relaxed under Jean’s touch, the one hand still clinging to Jean’s arm releasing its grip in increments.

“You shouldn’t _be here_ ,” Marco finally repeated. As if suddenly realizing how close they were, the boy flushed and tried stepping away.

God, Jean’s omega-sense had chosen to imprint on the most infuriating guy ever.

Jean followed Marco backwards, refusing to let the boy escape when he so obviously needed instinctual comforting. The other boy flushed redder and made a garbled noise when Jean leaned down to nose at the crook of his neck. Thank god the guy was unpresented, Jean was starting to let off some serious omega pheromones that even guards across the room could probably smell. God, he wanted him. Wanted to name his own constellations in Marco’s freckles, kiss them as he moved down to the other boy’s mouth. Pull him flush again him and— _shit, Jean no—oh_ , against the wall would be good. Whisper secrets into Marco’s ear so that he could see how stupid he was being and then maybe, _maybe_ , Jean’s bed wouldn’t have to be empty this heat—

A scream burst out from the stage: “No! You goddamn bitch— _you can’t do this_!”

Ah, shit. Jean froze—how the hell did he go from trying to lure Marco out of his hormone-induced worrying to falling prey to his own instincts?—and Marco took the opportunity to tear himself away. Cheeks burning, Jean snatched his hand back and turned to look at anyone, any _thing_ except for the way Marco had looked so vulnerable.

So it was just his luck that his eyes caught sight of the single thing worse than his and Marco’s awkward balancing act. He tensed, red cheeks quickly flushing white. The man in the green jacket sat in the front row.

Jean flinched when Marco came over to see what he’d been looking at. His expression changed minutely at the sight—more alert, mission-like. He slipped his hand into Jean’s own, which probably should have felt weird but didn’t. Holding hands with Marco felt as natural as kissing him, which was… also kind of weird.

“Is that Greigrich?” Marco said softly, eyes narrowing in confusion. “He’s—he’s not supposed to be here. What is he doing here?”

“And how do you know him?” Jean asked bluntly.

Marco paused. “Well—you can say—he patrolled Jinae sometimes. Directed shipments in.”

“Oh,” Jean’s voice sounded dull. Patrols? Shipments? Even now he still had no idea what kind of place Jinae was, to have strange customs like that. Except where Griegrich goes… “Well, he was a friend of my father.”

“I know,” Marco admitted, which Jean hadn’t been expecting. It was... it was the final puzzle piece that had been eluding him since discovering the Naturalist’s silver rings. Marco he knew Jean’s dad had helped Greigrich, and if the Naturalists were working against Greigrich, then—then—

Was it really a coincidence that Marco happened to become his closest friend?

Jean was just about say something real scathing when the same voice on stage pled out again: “No. You can’t _do_ this!”

Marco turned to look at the stage, clearly dropping the conversation. Goddammit. The plea had come from none other than Young-bandit, who looked ragged on his knees in front of the senior officer.

“August, it’s alright,” a beta male said tiredly from the side that had already been sentenced. Two Garrison soldiers flanked him, which seemed unnecessary given that his hands were tied behind his back and he looked significantly more roughed up than Young-bandit—August—was. Jean barely recognized him. He’d been one of the ten bandits that had kidnapped them, yeah, but as he wasn’t Douche-bandit or Creepy-bandit, Jean hadn’t really registered him at all. “It’s alright, just. Don’t cause a fuss. It’s fine.”

“It’s _not_ fine!” August hissed, his eyes flashing such a fierce omega-gold even Jean flinched. “You can’t separate us! Kingdom law recognizes that forcing mated couples apart is inhumane—”

“You’re not mated,” the senior officer said. She looked annoyed at having her barely disguised gloating interrupted. “And you’re needlessly drawing this trial out, Mr. Linden. I’m not a patient woman.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck if you’re patient,” August snarled, struggling against his bonds. “Merten’s the one I chose. Just because our bodies are taking longer to cement the—the scent, it doesn’t change the fact that we’re a mated pair—ask anyone.”

“Who’ll stand up for you?” The senior officer pointed at the bandits already sentenced against the back wall. “Him? Or him? Or how about him? Look how silent they are. They’re not risking their necks for your stupidity.”

“Damn you,” August growled, at his fellow bandits or at the senior officer Jean wasn’t sure. “Damn you all and your stupid, sexist—”

“August, stop,” Merten pleaded. “They’re not going to accept it without the mating scent—I don’t want you hurt, just let it go.”

“See? Not even your own ‘mate’ acknowledges it,” the senior officer commented, crossing her arms. “Don’t you think you’ve stalled this proceeding long enough? You’re causing a spectacle.”

August glanced tiredly at the rows of trainees and Jean couldn’t help feeling bad for him. He squeezed Marco’s hand and looked away, not wanting to meet the other omega's eyes by accident.

The bandit finally turned his gaze to the floor.

“Please… _please_ ,” he begged, voice cracking. “Everyone knows it takes longer for betas and omegas to develop a mating scent… and we’ve been trying. I’m more than willing to do hard labor with Merten. I’ve carried loads and directed farm animals and spent—um, spent a few years in manual labor, I’m not _weak_ —”

“No,” the senior officer cut him off. “You will carry out your sentence in the community shelters within Karanese. There is already a shortage of omegas in those roles as it is—I will use force if I have to, Mr. Linden,” she warned when August tried to stand. “This matter is over. If you hadn’t wished to be separated, perhaps you should have reconsidered pilfering weapons to begin with.”

August threw her an incredulous look. “Weapons?” he said. “ _Weapons_? Is that what you told those kids we were taking? What the fuck is wrong with you people?”

“August,” Merten warned, but August’s cheeks were flushing with rage.

“You lot poison the ground and water and then turn around and accuse _us_ of wrongdoing? Yeah, they’re weapons—weapons against people, not titans!” He jerked his chin towards the trainees. “Why don’t you tell them what you guys really do with those canisters? If it’s for the kingdom, it should be all fine, right?”

“That is enough,” the senior officer said lowly.

“But you won’t,” August laughed. “You know most trainees won’t be able to stomach it. Decades later and after a few revolts, you military dogs still haven’t given up on the ‘Great Equalizer’ project.”

Jean jumped when Marco suddenly crushed his fingers in his grip, pain shooting up his arm like lightning. When he turned to protest, he saw that Marco’s face had gone completely white.

“Don’t go too far, August,” he murmured to himself, gripping Jean’s hand even tighter. “Don’t—”

“ _Enough_ , Mr. Linden. This is your final warning,” the senior officer’s eyes briefly flashed red before she turned and nodded at the soldiers by the wall. They immediately rushed to flank August and forced him to his feet. She turned her back. “Place him with the others.” 

“Everyone knows you’re still using it. You sprayed the refugees from Wall Maria down only a few years ago. Tried making them easier to control,” August said, voice not particularly loud but steady. It rang over the commotion building amongst the crowd. “Even after the government agreed to discontinue the project, we all know you’re still pumping those villages with _suppressants_ —”

A chill ran up Jean’s spine.

The senior officer turned around so fast, Jean didn’t have time to prepare himself before she’d crossed the floor and round-kicked August Linden right in the face. Merten yelled. August fell to the ground with a loud thump that reverberated across the room. She lifted her foot and brought it down hard to his gut; Jean flinched at the omega’s aborted gurgle, spittle dribbling down his chin. Marco tensed, terror in his expression settling into the kind of dogged determination that made him such an excellent student.

Her eyes were red, blood red, and this image was wrong, wrong, _wrong_. Alphas weren’t supposed to hit omegas, but the woman didn’t even flinch. She pulled her foot back and watched August curl into himself and dry-heave onto the floor.

Merten closed his eyes.

“You will serve your time,” the senior officer said calmly, as if there wasn’t an omega shuddering at her feet, “and you will shut your mouth. Am I clear?”

August curled himself tighter into a ball and yelped when she kicked him again. “Am. I. Clear?”

“Stop it,” Marco’s voice suddenly rang out.

The world froze.

The blood drained from Jean’s face because _what the hell was Marco doing._ Marco’s chin was raised high even as some of the other trainees edged away to prevent becoming collateral damage. “As military soldiers, we’re charged with protecting humanity. How is beating an omega in public helping the cause? You’ve made your point—just let him go.”

The senior officer slowly turned to face Marco, her expression unreadable. The hairs on the back of Jean’s neck rose under her gaze.

“And who are _you_?” she said after a terrifying beat.

“Marco Bodt, ma’am.” Marco said boldly. His palm was sweating in Jean’s hand, though, and Jean couldn’t decide if he was relieved that Marco had enough sense to be terrified or if he was furious that he wasn’t smart enough to _let it go_.

“And where are you from?”

Marco paled, but didn’t hesitate in answering, “Jinae, ma’am. From within Wall Rose.”

“Ah,” the officer paused a purposeful beat. “Of course.”

Everything went quiet.

That wasn’t the worse part. The worse part was when Greigrich slowly turned in his seat and looked up at Marco for the first time. Jean resisted the urge to drop Marco’s hand like a hot coal; he wasn’t going to up and abandon him now. Even if it meant the man in the green jacket could _see_ , could sweep his gaze over them with that same judgmental sneer… and then the officer finally said in a voice as sharp as a knife: “Come with me to my office, Mr. Bodt. We can discuss your insubordinance in private.”

She glanced down at August on the floor and made a show of turning away, feet just grazing his side. She waved a hand at the soldiers, who after a moment’s hesitation hoisted August up and dragged him away.

When she turned to walk out a door in the side of the room, Marco made to follow.

No, no, no. Jean panicked when he felt the boy’s fingers slip from his own, every shred of omega instinct now united in wanting to keep Marco safe and away from crazy alphas. He must have tightened his grip because Marco paused long enough to meet Jean’s eyes and chide, “ _Jean_.”

Marco had always been self-sacrificingly nice, but the look in his face was something else entirely. He seemed _resigned_. Not like his normal self at all, and Jean wanted to keep him where he was but he didn’t have _time_. Hadn’t he just been on Marco’s case for being overprotective?

He was better than this.

 _No you’re not_ , his omega-sense whispered to him and flashed teeth sharp as knives. _You’re vicious and selfish and angry, but you don’t want to let him go. Even if he’s dangerous, you’d rather he stay, don’t you?_

Shut up, omega-sense.

He let Marco go.

The crowd erupted into murmurs and gossip: Suppressants! After all these years? No, it can't be. He's lying. The officers began calling for order, please, there were still at least two more bandits to process, but Jean didn’t care about any of it.

He was alone.

 

\--

 

Sebastian Greigrich followed him into the hallway.

Jean stalked forward without looking back, not giving a damn if he offended the son of a bitch. He was in heat, feeling moody at being abandoned and _sick_ of this.

“Stop following me,” he finally bit out when he’d walked practically to the other side of the compound. Also, it was unsettling to have the man’s steady footfalls echoing his over and over again, up and down stairs and across wood flooring. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Pity,” the man in the green jacket responded in a mild tone. “Because I think we have a lot to talk about.”

“You’re dealing in _suppressants_ ,” Jean hissed at him, whirling around, because he now knew what Greigrich was responsible for. He knew what those canisters were. “You think I want to know more about that kind of shit? No! I don’t want to have anything to do with it!” 

“Suppressants aren’t as unnatural as people make it to be,” Greigrich said, so calm Jean wanted to strangle him. “It’s a synthetic chemical that triggers the body’s own defense mechanism: the same kind of trigger that activates when someone’s placed in drastic situations.” 

“Shut up.”

“When an omega or an alpha presents, the body releases hormones that kickstart their second puberty. Betas, on the other hand, are what results when there is no second flood of hormones. One can say that ‘beta’ is in fact the default state of mankind, and that by blocking the release of alpha and omega hormones is simply reverting—”

“Shut _up_!” Jean shouted at him, too angry to speak clearly. He wanted to run but there was no where to go. It was unsettling. “What’s your point?”

“I’m explaining your father’s work,” Greigrich said coolly, “and why the use of suppressants on a population can be beneficial.”

Jean shuddered and took a step back. “My father’s dead. It’s over." 

“It’s not,” Greigrich said sharply, emotion curling in his voice for the first time. “Your father’s death was just the beginning.”

Jean turned around so he didn't have to look at him. Marco was off _in danger_ and here Jean was being distracted by men in green jackets refusing to leave him alone.

Greigrich sighed, reached into his pocket and took out his pipe. “Look, Jean. I promised your father I’d keep you out of this—especially after it became apparent you were an omega. We’re still trying to iron out the details, but the suppressant has always had the worst complications with omega males and alpha females. Ironic, isn't it? It mimics the kind of incredible stress that may switch an omega male's or alpha female's systems to beta. Nature's panic button if a remaining group has no couples that can reproduce. The potential hermaphrodism is too delicate, though. Your father didn't want to risk your health with exposure."

“Good to know he cared so much about me,” Jean shot back sarcastically.

Greigrich ignored this. “But these renewed efforts to steal our shipments—I believe you might be in danger, Jean. Especially from that Jinae boy.”

“Don’t you dare bring Marco into this.”

“Why did he, of all the trainees in the room, choose to speak up?” Greigrich continued. “Good will? Posturing? No. He and Mr. Linden have a plan, and I’m here to figure it out. Did you know they used to sky glide together in Jinae? Of course not. I’ve patrolled Jinae myself, Jean. You haven’t.”

“What did you _do_ to them?” Jean demanded, dropping one of his many walls of denial. “Tell me exactly: what did you do to the people in Jinae because if you harmed Marco, I swear to god…”

Greigrich put his pipe to his lips and skirted the question. “Most of those who oppose us come from the groups affected by our work. Survivors of Wall Maria. Citizens of Astoria and Jinae. You’re a prime target for them, Jean. The only son of the toppled Kirstein leader, and a military boy to boot. Easy to attribute death to a field accident. Easy to miss as a runaway. Haven’t you thought for _one moment_ , Jean,” Greigrich raised his voice, “that the easiest way to attack you is at your most vulnerable?”

Jean clenched his teeth, temper beginning to spill over as his own doubts were laid out bare. The abandoned train of thought mid-kidnap swam to the surface, taunting him. “Marco is my friend.”

“He has you wrapped around his little finger,” Greigrich said. “Just as your mother had your father wrapped around hers.”

Anger gripped him so hard he began shaking. “I suggest you go fuck off before I do something bad, Mr. Greigrich. I don’t want you losing a few of _your_ fingers.”

“Your father and I were good friends,” Greigrich answered, puffing his pipe. “I do hope nothing happens to you that I could have prevented.” 

And then he turned around and walked away, easy as he pleased, and it just _pissed Jean off_. The fact that it was at the other man’s whim when he’d come and go, that the alpha so easily asserted control over Jean even when he didn’t want it, crawled under Jean’s skin.

The anger was welcome. It was an easy, familiar anger, the same kind he felt whenever the topic of his father resurfaced. So familiar Jean could almost ignore the rising panic bubbling inside his chest, until it spiraled out of control.

He rushed to the closest toilet and vomited. As he’d eaten nothing all day, he ended up spitting up mostly bile, shaking and sick and hating himself. Jean knew Marco. He could read the boy’s emotions in the subtle nuances of his face, the cheeky grin and the glitter in his eyes. Marco was a damn good actor, but not that good. Jean _knew_ him.

Except he played the Nice Guy façade so well with the others; who said he couldn’t be playing Jean too?

No. The man in the green jacket couldn’t be trusted. Anyone who could produce the most controversial poison known to man and ship it around the kingdom with a straight face hadn't the moral high ground against a guy who might be involved in some… resistance movement. Against suppressants. Yeah, sounded like Marco had every right to be involved, and it would have been fine if Jean’s dad hadn’t been such a _fucking bastard_.

First Marco had rejected him, and now he was possibly a danger to Jean’s wellbeing. It seemed absurd. Just a week ago he would have laughed at whoever tried to tell him that _this_ was his future. That Marco was the best spy ever, even if someone smarter could have used Jean’s—Jean’s feelings easily, spinning them around his finger and tightening the strings.

_“God, Jean, just—I can’t do this, alright? Can we leave it?”_

Someone smarter wouldn’t have left him with no answers, no reassurances, and an aching hole in his heart.

Marco actually gave a damn about him, and Jean didn’t know if that was better or worse.

Jean stumbled out of the toilet and cast a glance at the trainees milling about. He didn’t have time to mull over this, and he couldn’t keep going alone. He couldn’t—he had to—Marco was probably in serious trouble, and the man in the green jacket had distracted him enough already. Hell, maybe that was his plan all along.

Bastard.

Jean couldn’t just leave Marco, even with the seed of doubt planted in his mind. It was _Marco_. Steeling himself, he turned back towards the stairwell and ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suppressants and how they are viewed in this society will be further explored next chapter. Long story short, long-term exposure to suppressants (especially during a "sensitive" period) causes people to present as betas. It suppresses the secondary hormone shift that lets alphas and omegas develop.
> 
> Things get messy, though, if it's only a partial exposure (like with the Maria kids: remember Eren's early heat and Bertholdt's super late presentation) or if the exposure isn't constant and/or misses the sensitive period (cough/Marco/cough). 
> 
> That's why Greigrich suggested a double daily dosage the year before Jean presented, if his dad decided to force Jean to present as a beta.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Later, Jean heard the girl whispering: “My mom said the kingdom people are great big liars. Said they’re covering up their work from the Great Equalizer project. She says it’s a—a darn disgrace and if she could, she’d join the Natura—”
> 
> “Shut up!” her friend said, and Heidi looked startled. “You’re not supposed to talk about it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a really hard chapter to write. It's plotty. Things are coming to a head. August is insane. Apologies in advance for all the random Naturalist OCs-- none of them are that important except for August :P. I wanted to keep all the original titan characters as close to their canon counterparts, which meant I had to invent my own villains.

 

 

 

10.

 

Jean wasn’t stupid. It came with the whole cynical, glass-half-empty attitude because pessimism required some sort of awareness of the outside world. Eren called it cowardice. Jean called it _reality_. And rather than explain away the darker details, Jean’s mind became a master at keeping his thoughts away from them altogether.

Like the details of his father’s work. Maybe that’s where it’d all started.

“Did you know you were an omega before you presented?” Jean had asked his mother one lazy summer day, when it’d been too hot to go outside and Matthias had terrorized him out of venturing into the backyard. He slumped onto a kitchen chair, arms dangling over the side and feet kicking the ground. “Or was it a surprise?”

“Not one can say for sure,” his mother had replied off-hand. She was slicing a loaf of bread with a knife, each piece precisely the same width. “It’s what keeps us equal, you see.”

“Equal?”

His mother sighed. “Starting off unpresented helps us find ourselves without the pressure of being an alpha or omega or beta. Reminds us that everyone’s just as smart, capable and dangerous as they were before they presented.”

Jean scuffed the ground a few more times with his foot before rolling over onto his back. He stared at the ceiling.

“They won’t let you lead the neighborhood block party,” Jean finally said. He squished his belly with a hand and made a face at how pudgy it was. “They’re having Anton do it instead. But _you’re_ better at cooking.”

“That’s a whole different issue,” his mother sighed like she'd expected him to bring it up. She finished cutting the bread and bustled to the freezer box, where she took out a tub of golden butter. “Some people think boys are better than girls.”

“Oh.” Jean said, not really understanding. Girls and boys could both be alphas, betas and omegas; it seemed silly to treat all dynamics as the same but discriminate based on something as silly as _gender_.

“Why are you asking, Jean boy?” his mother buttered two pieces of bread and placed it on a ceramic plate. “You’re too young to worry about that kind of thing.”

Jean kicked the ground for a few more minutes before blurting out: “Dad thinks I’m an omega.”

His mother stiffened but didn’t stop walking to the table, where she placed the plate of bread down and sat down in the chair besides him. Jean lifted his hand up and patted the table blindly, until he got a handful of butter and, upon finding his quarry, tugged the slice of bread over the table edge.

Thankfully, his mother was too absorbed in what he’d said to scold him for poor manners. “Your father has very… antiquated ideas of dynamics, darling.”

“His friend said I was an omega too. The man in the green jacket. He made me smell something bad.”

“What?” his mother’s voice was sharp.

“Can that bad smelling thing let people know what they’re going to present as? Mom?”

“I need to send a letter to your father,” his mother said, sounding upset. She stood up, gathered her apron, and strode purposefully towards the door. “He shouldn’t have let you anywhere near that—that poison!”

“Poison?” Jean said, bewildered, but his mother had bustled off. After a moment deliberating if he should follow, he lay back down over the seat and placed the piece of bread in his mouth. Dissatisfaction weighed him down: he’d only asked a question, but as usual the adults didn’t answer. They never did.

Jean chewed the bread and swallowed.

It was only later while attending school when he’d first heard of the word _suppressants_. Mostly about how they didn’t exist.

“Lies made up by rebels to stir up trouble,” their teacher declared disapprovingly when Heidi Kurlich raised her hand to ask. “Honestly! As if any one thing in the world can change your presentation. No. Dynamics are pre-decided at birth.”

“But I heard that if you starve or get really, _really_ injured—”

“Ms. Kurlich,” their teacher had interrupted sharply. “That is enough.”

Later, Jean heard the girl whispering: “My mom said the kingdom people are great big liars. Said they’re covering up their work from the Great Equalizer project. _She_ says it’s a—a darn disgrace and if she could, she’d join the Natura—”

“Shut up!” her friend said, and Heidi looked startled. “You’re not supposed to talk about it!”

“Talk about what?” Jean tried to ask, but both girls just threw him dirty looks and scampered away. He’d actually had a bit of a crush on the girl that had told Heidi to shut up, and her glare left him sulking for weeks.

“Lies,” his mother said when Jean finally mustered up the courage to ask her about it, years later. He was ten. She wrung her hands in a tea towel and refused to look at him. “Lies and rumors and dangerous talk, Jean. Don’t you let me hear you speaking of it again.”

“But—”

“There is no such thing as suppressants, and there is no such thing as the Great Equalizer project. I won’t have you talking about such—such dirty topics in this house, especially not with your father here.”

“Dad’s here?” Jean’s heart stuttered.

“He’s coming tomorrow,” she said, tucking the towel into her apron and turning her back to him as she went to wash the dishes. “Behave yourself.”

Jean went to bed that night frustrated and angry and a little bit scared, because something horrible was forming in his mind and he didn’t want to acknowledge it. He didn’t want to know what it was; he _couldn’t_.

He couldn't.

So when his father sat at the dinner table the next day, Jean spent his time glowering at him rather than, you know, confronting him about the rumors. Confronting him about the strange flowery smell in a silver canister, and the cold expression of the man in the green jacket.

Suppressants didn’t exist, Jean.

Until he met Marco, he’d almost completely convinced himself that this was the truth.

 

\--

 

He didn’t know where to start looking, but he guessed going back up to the offices was a good place to start. There were trainees and soldiers milling about the first floor, so many it was hard to pick people out from the blur of tan jackets. Jean briefly considered asking a soldier for the location of Sergeant Adelaide’s office, but most of her subordinates would probably warn him against bothering her.

Jean wondered if he should just… open and close all the doors until he hit the right one. But that would be undignified and embarrassing, and hadn't Jean already suffered enough indignity and embarrassment for the day? But Marco. Unease crawled under his skin, hot and sticky and snaking up his neck and to his temple. He needed to find Marco.

From the corner of his eye, Jean saw a familiar shrimpy blond slipping into a room. Armin? Armin and Marco were friends. Even if he didn’t know where he was, the guy had the brains to figure it out. Jean hurried after him and sidled up to the door Armin had slipped into. He heard muffled arguing filter through the wood, which would seem foreboding if it weren’t also Marco’s voice.

Oh thank god. Jean squeezed through the door.

“—dare ask favors after such insubordination! Get out of my office!”

Marco and Armin were facing off against a furious Sergeant Adelaide at her desk: Marco standing as straight as a board with his hands clasped behind his back, and Armin holding a handful of documents while nervously glancing between the alpha and his friend. The alpha woman had her teeth half-bared, seemingly fed up with being talked back at by a bunch of unpresented children. Jean slipped behind a bookcase and surveyed the scene with his heart thudding heavily in his chest.

“Shadis only agreed to lend us out for this mission with the bandits. I know—I made sure to review the terms with Shadis after his announcement,” Armin said, voice far shakier than Marco’s righteous indignation. He gestured at the documents and shrunk back at the Sergeant's sharp glare. “S-Since the mission is over, we should be free to leave.”

She only raised her brow at this. “And waste resources to travel in the middle of the night? This isn't a mission, boy. You _will_ graciously accept the Karanese division's room and board and _will_ carry out duties as I see fit. It's necessary compensation. I won't accept anything less."

“Our original mission is over,” Marco said, strung so tight he looked about to snap. “Refusing to let us go is a grievous misuse of your power and a shame on the military itself.”

“Marco!” Armin warned, but it was too late. The officer narrowed her eyes and sauntered right into Marco’s space. She radiated alpha-sense so strong even Jean hiding behind a bookcase could feel it crawl across his skin.

“Listen here, worm,” she hissed, jabbing a finger into Marco’s chest. Marco’s determined expression didn’t even flicker. “You’re damn lucky we’re in need of soldiers or I’d boot your sorry ass out so fast, you won’t be able to call for your mother. You’re the bottom of the barrel. The dirt. Worse than dirt. That’s just how it is. If a senior officer wants you to do something you do it, no questions asked. Don’t like how that is? Climb to the top yourself. The military likes to put on a nice front to everyone else, but you better learn fast how it really is before it bites you in the ass. Is that clear, soldier?”

Marco said nothing.

She jabbed him again with a finger. “Is. That. _Clear?_ ”

“Yes ma’am,” Marco said, sounding as silently seething as Jean had ever heard him.

“Good,” the senior officer stepped back, appeased. The uncomfortable alpha-sense on Jean’s skin receded. “You request for travel is denied. You’re dismissed, soldier.”

Marco nodded stiffly and turned to leave. He hadn't saluted off, a gesture the sergeant noticed as much as Jean did. She sneered, bristling at the disrespect: “If it was up to me, I’d never let you Jinae kids come here anyway. We don’t need you freaks messing with our omegas.”

"You can't..." Armin looked indignant, but whatever anger he felt was immediately overridden by Marco's seething rage.

The brunet turned back to face her, eyes blown black, and Armin obviously noticed his friend's mood because he grabbed Marco’s arm before the boy did something tremendously stupid. Like picking a fight with an _alpha_ , god, it really was like he’d had lost his mind today.

Before he knew what he was doing, Jean had stepped out from behind the bookcase.

The senior officer whipped her head towards him immediately, nostrils flaring. An alpha sensing an omega in heat, not a surprise. What did surprise Jean was when Marco also turned to look at him, too fast for him to write off as Marco watching the alpha and then turning to see what she was looking at. That was fast enough for Jean to imagine—fantasize? Okay, maybe he was going batshit insane—that Marco had sensed him all on his own.

Somehow.

He felt less insane when Armin was the slowest to turn: he noticeably jerked his head up to stare at both the alpha’s expression and Marco’s before turning to look at Jean.

Now they were all looking at Jean. Jean stared at them. In retrospect, this seemed like a much better idea in his head.

“Marco,” he said, for lack of a better thing to say. He stepped closer, drawing Marco's attention away from the sergeant. Good, that was the plan. That _was_ the plan, right? Less focus on Sergeant Adelaide, less chance for Marco to pull a Jean Kirstein and toss about his feelings into the world as a poor form of anger-management. It was a possibility so different from Marco’s normal easy-going manner that Jean surprised himself by how inappropriately hot he found it.

Because apparently a batshit insane Marco a hair away from starting a fight was really fucking sexy. Goddamn his omega-sense.

Jean wanted to just grab him, but while he knew Marco wouldn’t hurt him if he snapped, Armin was totally within range to become collateral damage. Before he could test it out, a harried soldier burst through the door behind Jean and shouted, “Sergeant Adelaide! The bandits have escaped!”

“What?” Sergeant Adelaide snarled and Marco flinched. Before the boy could do something ridiculous, Jean dove forward and hauled Marco against him. He bore his teeth at the sergeant in Marco’s place: just because he'd held Marco back didn't mean he was going to let this fucking alpha bitch hurt them.

He’d go down in a flurry of claws and teeth before he’d let that happen.

“How could they have—the transfer," Sergeant Adelaide's face curdled with dawning realization. "The transfer can't happen without my supervision. You _distracted_ me,” she snapped at Marco, face an ugly red. “Giving them enough time to get out. You fucking brat! I should eviscerate—”

Which was when the soldier, looking much less harried and a lot more calculating, picked up a heavy-looking vase from her shelf and cracked it over the sergeant’s head.

She fell down like a heap of bricks, and Jean’s roiling anger broke off in confusion.

“Thanks,” the soldier announced, tossing the vase carelessly onto the floor beside her unconscious body and crossing his arms at Marco. “Fantastic strategy, sending her into a rage. B- grade, easy. You're too fresh, newbie. Rule one of acting is to not get worked up yourself. A lesson August needs to learn too, because what the _hell_ was that performance on stage?"

Jean stared blankly at him until he caught the sharp reflection of a silver ring on the soldier’s finger and _oh_. He clutched Marco tighter against him. No, no, no, he’d just gotten him back he wasn’t letting the fucking _bandits_ take him away again.

“You’re…” Marco rasped, visibly tried to gather himself. Whatever was happening, Marco's anger had been real. Jean wasn't losing his mind, his omega-sense was inexplicably the most trustworthy thing in the room right now, and _Sergeant Adelaide was on the floor_. Marco's voice was low: “You’re late.”

“Sorry,” the soldier—was he even a soldier?—shrugged, not looking apologetic in the least. He stepped over the sergeant’s prone body to rummage through her desk. He picked up a small white box and placed it in his pocket. “Shit happened. Plans got disrupted. Greigrich is here, you know. Not to mention Raulf is taking his sweet time with the escape route—”

Which was when the entire building suddenly shook. Books clattered onto the floor. Papers were scattered. Armin yelped and crashed right into Jean, and Jean swung his free arm around the blond’s shoulders and pulled him close. It was instinctual. Jean was already on edge and the heat was whispering PROTECT PACK FIGHT DANGER and it wasn’t worth the effort fighting it.

“—and it looks like we’re back on track. Let’s move.”

“Woah, woah,” Jean interrupted, glaring at both the not-soldier and Marco. Anger covered the fear rising up his chest and into his throat, like acrid bile waiting to be hurled into the world. He pointed at Marco, “We’re not going anywhere. Not until you either sit down and explain what’s happening, because I’m not sure your friends are mine.”

“Jean—” Marco looked beseeching, but Jean’s omega-sense hissed at him like a cat. He wasn’t backing down from this.

“Those bandits attacked us, Marco! They hit Reiner until he was unconscious and they almost _raped_ me and here you are, helping them get away—”

“We don’t have time for this, Marco!” the soldier snapped.

“—and did you know they wanted to use me because of my dad?” Jean’s bowled over him. “Did you know that? So forgive me if I don’t know who’s side you’re on here, because it’s looking like shit from where I’m standing and I’m _not_ in the best state to deal with this right now!”

“Jean, calm down!” Armin interjected, alarmed for his heat or something _whatever_ , but Jean paid no attention to him.

“I won’t let them hurt you, Jean,” Marco seized him by the shoulders and pulled him close, holding him as Jean shook and _fuck this_. Marco didn’t deserve to touch him like this right now. “Please trust me when I say that.”

Jean felt like he was a breath from catching on fire, like a dry field shivering under a red sun and he needed to stop. His heat was spiraling away from him and _he couldn’t have that happen_. Not now. He squeezed Marco’s hand tight and Marco didn’t even flinch, just stared into Jean’s eyes with dark chocolate eyes almost black with alertness.

This close, he could pick up traces of Marco’s scent. The familiar smell cut through his confusion like a knife, and Jean felt his expression crumple. Marco hadn’t denied it being a coincidence. He hadn’t even denied knowing that Jean was a target.

 _I won’t let them hurt you_.

What a joke.

“I do trust you,” he said. “I just starting to think I shouldn’t.”

 

\--

Jean was slightly mollified when Marco, instead of getting defensive over Jean’s trust issues, spent the next five minutes arguing—arguing! _h_ _is_ Marco; and then Jean shook his head because Marco wasn’t his, what was his stupid animal brain thinking—with the not-soldier to let Armin and Jean go.

“They don’t have anything to do with this!” Marco hissed. “We shouldn’t involve outsiders, it’s not fair if they’re caught and get in trouble—”

“Our escape plan works better the more soldiers there are,” Not-soldier shot back. Or maybe he was a soldier, just working for the other team. Like Marco. “And they've heard too much. If they rat us out to the nearest commanding officer, we're fucked."

“Jean is in _heat_!”

“We don’t have time to cater to your overprotective urges! Especially over _Kirstein’s boy_ , who I remind you August—”

“Don’t,” Marco said in warning.

The other soldier threw up his hands with a snarl. “You've really gone _native_ , haven’t you? Never seen a test boy get so worked up over a little heat.”

The same uncharacteristically angry expression from before flickered across Marco’s face, and Jean had half a mind to announce that he was right here, could they please stop talking about him like some bare-footed omega sitting uselessly in a corner. Except Armin, who Jean had ironically forgotten about in the chaos, chose that moment to speak up.

“I,” he said, voice hesitant, “I don’t know if I’ll be much use, but I’d like to help.”

“Armin, no,” Marco said, but Armin drew himself to his full height. Which was still shorter than everyone in the room, but his Strategy face made him seem larger.

“You’re part of the Naturalist movement, aren’t you? The—the group working against suppressant distribution. I’ve talked to you guys before.”

The Naturalists again. Jean was wondering how Armin, of all people, knew about them when Marco explained to the other soldier, “Armin’s a Maria kid,” and the man looked a fraction more hospitable.

“Eren wanted to join the military to fight titans,” Armin said. “But if we hadn’t, we would have joined you guys. What they did to us after Wall Maria fell… Eren and Mikasa were sick for days.”

Bertholdt might have mentioned it once, but Jean never thought too much about what had happened to the other Maria survivors. It had _him_ feeling sick. He always forgot the Eren's band had been from Maria; training often stripped away the past with sweat, blood and tears. _You’re not from Maria_ , Eren had said when he’d noticed the bandits paying special attention to him. Jean should’ve suspected something about suppressants right then.

“Titans? You joining the Survey corps?” the other soldier asked, and Armin nodded. The soldier shook his head. “Well, brats with death wishes tell no tales. Alright, kid, you’re in.”

“Jean shouldn’t come,” Marco insisted, and god he was like a dog with a bone. The other man obviously wasn't letting them go. “We’ve got me, you and Armin, that should—”

Footfalls of Garrison soldiers suddenly thundered past the Sergeant’s room. Armin’s gaze darted across their surroundings, undoubtedly cataloguing the schedule on her desk and how the sergeant herself was beginning to groan. Someone was bound to come checking on her once they realized she was missing. They didn’t have time.

“I’m fine,” Jean said, placing a hand on his friend’s—they were still friends, right?—shoulder before he could do anything stupid. “Let’s just go.”

They followed the rogue soldier down the steps as Garrison soldiers ran past them, shouting about _bandits_ and _taken the shipments, fuck_ and, notably, surging out the back door while Jean was being led to the dungeons. Marco tried walking beside him, but Jean yanked himself away and scuttled towards Armin. He tried not to feel guilty when the brunet looked hurt.

Everything was going smoothly until they approached the rendezvous point and a stray soldier caught them in the hall. Armin and Jean froze, but the other rogue soldier and Marco didn’t even blink.

The new soldier, a beta, looked at the trainees, puzzled. Her fingers were bare. “What are you doing down here? Corporal Dox has instructed all the trainees help put out the fires in the supply room. And you, Franz,” she turned to the rogue soldier, “Dox has been looking all over for you.”

“Apologies, Alyssa,” Franz said. “Sergeant Adelaide gave me direct orders to contain the remaining bandits. These trainees mentioned seeing some in this area and everyone else is too busy upstairs…”

Alyssa raised a brow at their empty hands. “And what exactly will the four of you do if you run into these bandits?”

“Inform the sergeant as ordered,” Franz replied smoothly. Jean already knew the guy was a good actor, even better than Marco. Probably because the moment he dropped the façade, it was obvious that he just really didn’t give a shit about anything. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Alyssa frowned and grabbed his arm before he could move past her. “Honestly, Franz, you can't just ignore Dox. How about I look for the bandits? That way you and the trainees can—”

Jean let out a shout, but it was too late. Someone rammed the end of a rifle into her head from behind. The woman staggered but managed to twist around and grab the knife strapped to her belt. She slashed at her attacker, drawing blood, but he was bigger and stronger and rammed her head into the floor with a sickening crack.

“Don’t kill her,” Franz warned, in the same tone he’d say _Don’t use too much butter, dear_. The newcomer ignored him and instead grabbed the unconscious soldier by the ankles. Jean realized with a jolt that it was August Linden—the omega Sergeant Adelaide had kicked halfway to Sunday. Bruises blossomed on his chin and under his collar, running down his neck past his collar. What shocked Jean, however, wasn’t the stomach-curling proof of an alpha’s hand on an omega.

It was the ugly, cold look in his eyes. Even when Jean and Eren and Bertholdt had been strung up, August had looked stern but sympathetic. This August looked like a different creature altogether.

“You tried to warn her,” he told Jean lowly, and Jean couldn’t help but step back at his tone. “Thought you could escape?”

“August?” Marco asked tentatively, looking just as concerned over the other omega's transformation as Jean was. But for different reasons. Irrational jealousy surged through him at Marco caring about _another omega_ , followed by anger at himself for getting jealous. This was _not the time_.

August just gave Jean one last scowl before turning to drag the girl into the room behind him, a streak of red staining the floor. Franz frowned and scrubbed it clean with his sleeve.

“There'll be too many of us to explain away as soldiers running errands,” he mused out loud, standing up. “We'll need to split up when we head to the coal shaft.”

“Franz—” Marco said, still horrified at August’s behavior. “August just _hit that girl over the head_ —”

“You’ll need rifles,” Franz said, ignoring him and heading into the storeroom. “Come on, let’s get you suited up.”

Marco grabbed Jean's arm and Jean let him, the warm strength in his fingers as steadying as it was infuriating. Seeing Sergeant Adelaide going down had been gratifying for what a bitch she was; seeing this other girl crack her skull was another thing altogether. She was just a soldier. Just like them.

“Jean,” Marco whispered lowly, biting his lip. “Head back upstairs as soon as I give you the signal. I’ll distract the others long enough for you to get away…"

“And leave you alone with these crazies?” Jean hissed back, surprised the boy was even suggesting this.

“I’ll have Armin.”

“Armin is a _stick_.”

“A smart stick,” Marco said, voice trying to sound brave. It shook, but Jean was kind enough to pretend he didn’t hear it. “Jean, _please._ I’ll explain everything later. Just get to safety.”

“Stop trying to leave me behind,” Jean said, because this was an increasingly sore spot for him. “You don’t think _I_ worry about _you_ being in danger?”

“Marco?” a voice called out from inside the room. Marco froze. It was August. “You’ve got Kirstein’s boy, don’t you? Come here.”

Marco closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them. He trailed his hand down Jean's arm and gently held his hand.

“I'm so sorry about this," Marco said, sounding defeated. He clutched Jean’s hand tighter and gave him a wavering smile. “Let’s just get this over with and— and I'll make it up to you later alright?”

Jean narrowed his eyes at him, but he didn't say no.

 

\--

 

August Linden wasn’t the only one who looked like shit. The other bandits sprawled across the barrels had the appearance of a crowd that had gotten trampled by horses. Heavy, manure-covered horses.

Jean’s hackles rose at being in such close quarters with so many hostile alphas, all of whom would love to use Jean as a weapon to hit Greigrich in the balls with. Not that it would work, given his suspicion that the man in the green jacket was a complete sociopath, but the point was the _Naturalists_ thought it would work. And his heat didn’t like it.

“You guys took fucking forever up there,” August snapped. “Kenrik is down and if we don’t crawl out soon—”

“Then stop your whining and let’s go,” Franz overrode him. He pointed at himself and Jean. “The two of us will go in a team to guide three of the injured out—”

“No,” Marco said sharply, refusing to back down even when August focused his red-eyed angry glare on him. “August—look, I know you think—”

“I don’t think, I _know_ ,” August said flatly, face growing more and more pinched by the second. “It’s turning into a liability, Marco. He’s our target.”

“I’m right here,” Jean snapped at him, because his internal alarm kept blaring _THIS IS A TRAP THIS IS A TRAP_. Understandable given the hostile alphas, August and his stupid bitchy face, and even Marco’s quiet association with them. 'Cause, you know, Marco hadn’t once seemed to consider _n_ _ot_ being with the rebels. Except even Armin had gone and joined their side and hadn’t Jean agreed that stopping the spread of suppressants was a good thing?

But then the image of August slamming that poor beta girl’s head to the floor and bile rose in his throat. It was so _confusing_ not know who the good guys were anymore, and Jean just wanted everything to be simple again.

He raised his chin, trying to mask the sick fear in his gut with bravado. “And I’d rather go with Marco, thank you, since I’m apparently just a _target.”_

“You little—”

“Enough!” Franz barked out angrily. He took out a few rifles and passed them among the soldiers. No bullets. It’d take too long to find them. “We don’t have _time_ for this, August—we already agreed we weren’t going ahead with that plan now. Let’s just get the hell out of here. You, shrimpy one—” he pointed at Armin, who jumped. “—come with me. We’ll take Gerald, Kenrik and Ulysses. Marco, take the rest.”

August groaned. “Marco’s first field mission and you’re just going to leave him on his own.”

“Alyssa caught us because we were too conspicuous, August. Marco's got their trust. And you'll be there to take over if there are problems. Now let’s _move_.”

They moved out in eerie formation, exactly how the trainees did during a practice session. More people than Jean had thought had military training then—a fact that had him wondering how deep this whole thing went. Very deep, apparently. As deep as the government's sanctioning of suppressants. Marco bore the brunt of August’s hostility on the way upstairs with amazing resilience, because he kept pestering him with pointed questions.

“August. _August_. Stop ignoring me, I know you can hear me fine. Who did this to you? Weren’t you supposed to leave with the first wave? Why are you still here? August!”

“Marco, I will shove my foot up your ass,” August threatened, and Jean kicked his shin. No one was shoving anything up Marco’s ass. Especially not another omega. August turned and shot him such a look of loathing that Jean recoiled. He tried putting Marco between them, which gave the brunet the perfect chance to pester August some more.

“Something happened,” Marco continued. “Franz said Greigrich found you, got in the way somehow…”

“Shut up!” August snapped, loud and harsh enough that even the other bandits flinched. “Just—just shut up, god, I can’t stand your stupid questions. You don’t know anything!”

“Then just tell me!”

“Quiet!” Jean hissed at them both, and Marco thinned his lips into a disapproving line. August jerked away from the two of them and fell to the back of the group. He sulked the rest of their brief trip to the coal shaft—uneventful, despite their earlier encounter with a soldier.

Jean expected his heartbeat to ease the closer they were done shoving the fucking bandits down the shaft and running back to their normal life—but the opposite seemed to be happening. His heart raced in his chest, beating faster and faster as they stepped into a narrow room. His palms felt too hot and sweaty in Marco’s grip, uncomfortable and itchy, because _what was he doing_. He should report them. Stop them. But he was too much of a coward to do  _anything_. He wanted to run and hide and put the responsibility in someone else's hands, but that meant leaving Marco alone and no matter how pissed he was at the boy he couldn't do that. He was trapped.

Someone had hacked through the back wall and revealed a forced-open metal shaft, descending like a creepy slide into the darkness.

“Thank god,” one of the weary bandits muttered and launched himself down the shaft without preamble. The other bandit—not August, who was suspiciously silent behind them—seemed more wary of the gaping hole of death. He put his feet onto the opening with a grimace and slowly, slowly sank down into the dark.

Then it was just August left.

Jean shivered in alarm when Marco released his hand to step towards the other man. Without the boy's warm hand in his, Jean felt incredibly exposed. His heart raced faster, even as he tried to tamp his panic down. Because here Marco was, approaching the omega that represented pretty much everything he didn’t know about Marco. This foreign side of him that was quite possibly the _real_ Marco. The Naturalists. The strangeness of Jinae and its involvement with suppressants. The man in the green coat.

His father’s death.

“Take care of yourself, alright?” Marco said softly, gripping his friend’s shoulders. August’s expression softened by the tiniest of degrees. “This was too close.”

“Yeah,” August shook off Marco’s hands and turned away. “I’m sorry, Marco.”

Jean stepped back as August crossed his path. He _did_ look sorry, but in the same way he’d looked sorry for shoving a gun to Eren’s head. Like he didn’t want to do it but would if he had to. Reluctantly accepting. It was a peculiar expression, but it wasn’t as if Jean was an expert at reading weird rapey bandits. Whatever. Jean put that thought aside, because they were almost done and then they could get out of here. Jean could shout at Marco all he wanted about being involved in some rebel movement and using it as an excuse not to sleep with him—maybe? hopefully?—and hiding things from him and possibly, _possibly_ using him as collateral.

Jean didn’t believe it, not in his gut. Not even in his stupid animal brain. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t still scared he was being played. He wanted this to be over, God, what was Marco thinking pulling him into this, _this was supposed to be over_ —

Which was when August whirled around and grabbed Jean by the arm.

“Sorry,” August repeated, and jumped down the shaft.

Jean didn’t even get to yell before he plunged into the darkness with him.

 

\--

 

He was falling.

It was pitch black, darker than night, with the scrape of poorly hammered nails catching at his legs. August’s grip around his arm tightened like a vice, even with them shooting down and out and despite Jean struggling to get free.

He clawed at the hand holding him, panicked because _this wasn’t supposed to happen_. He needed to get back up _now._ Except the metal surface offered no purchase for his hands to claw against, and August's hold was immovable.

Was this the plan all along? Did Marco betray him? No, no, no. August had waited until the last moment to pull Jean in—if Marco had been in on it, both of them could have easily overpowered him. August had done that because he knew Marco wouldn’t want them to take Jean. He knew Marco would have fought back.

“Sorry,” August had said. He hadn’t been apologizing to the omega snarling at him, that was for sure.

Jean squeezed his eyes shut, grasping the thought desperately. Marco hadn’t betrayed him. He’d been holding his hand a beat earlier, calm and reassuring as ever, and Marco wasn’t _that_ good of a liar. No.

 _August_ had betrayed _Marco._

That was his last thought before the shaft spat them out into a pile of coal, scratching up all exposed skin as they skidding down the heap. Jean yelped and flailed about, drowning in black pebbles threatening to swallow him whole. August tugged him onto his feet and Jean’s panic snapped into rage.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Jean snarled, shoving the other omega away so hard he slipped and went sprawling onto his back.

“Kidnapping you,” August snarled, scrambling to his feet. “Because Marco can’t be trusted to do it himself. He's gotten too _attached,_ so I took the decision out of his hands.”

“You guys are all  _insane_ ," Jean spat back. "You think Greigrich gives a damn about me?"

“He has to!" August’s voice gained a slightly hysterical undertone. “Nothing else is guaranteed to work, but _you_ … you’re important enough to be bargaining chip.”

His eyes gleamed in the low lantern light of the coal mine, passionate and outraged and _desperate_. Jean felt a shiver of fear run up his back, because a desperate omega was a dangerous one.

He glanced around them quickly, cursing himself for dropping his rifle in the fall—and promptly saw it lying only a few feet away. No bullets, but he could still use it as a blunt weapon. He dove right at it and yelped when August surged forward and kicked him off-course. Jean fell hard on his side and managed to knock August’s legs out from under him—which had the unfortunate effect of sending the mountain of coal beneath them rolling down into a landslide.

Rather than scrabbling up and potentially causing another slide, he waited until the pile stopped shifting to orient himself. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. Jean was trapped in a coal disposal cave with an omega who’d lost it, and Jean wasn't going to just take that. He was _better_ than being tossed around like a bargaining chip, as August had put it.

He crawled back up the pile ready for a second round of wrestling—just high enough for him to see August stalking towards him, rifle in hand.

Which was the shaft groaned and clattered, and spat Marco out on top of them.

August whipped around to gape at him, obviously startled. “Marco? What the—”

He didn’t get any farther because Marco threw himself at August with no holds barred. Unexpectedly aggressive, judging from the omega’s stunned expression. They went down hard on the coal pile, August dropping the rifle in favor of trying to wrestle a terrifying Marco off of him.

“Have you fucking _lost your mind_!” August managed to jab Marco so hard in the gut the other boy flinched backwards and left himself vulnerable. The bandit flipped them over and pressed his arm against Marco’s throat. “He’s just an _omega_. You’re above all this Marco, I know you are!”

The sound of Marco wheezing against the hand pressing against his windpipe had instincts even deeper than Jean’s heat stirring. Here was this wild omega, pressing Marco down and endangering his life and Jean’s heartbeat skyrocketed.

How _dare_ he,

“August,” Marco said. He scrabbled against August’s forearm. “August, this isn’t you, _listen to me_. Whatever’s wrong we can fix this—”

“I’ll remind you what you’re here for, it’s the only thing I can do,” August muttered, ignoring his friend. He sounded resolute, which would have been convincing if the sheer terror running beneath his voice didn’t give him away. He reached into his pocket and took out a silver canister. “You’ll thank me later.”

Marco’s eyes widened and he scrabbled at the arm holding him down, writhing in August’s grasp in such a desperation that Jean knew that something was very, very wrong.

Not that he needed to watch Marco to know that. He felt it crawl across his skin, because he’d spent his whole life unknowingly surrounded by suppressant and he _knew_ what it felt like. How wrong it was, with such a small dose capable of trapping one’s development into a beta state forever.

August uncapped the canister and shifted his position. Marco tried bucking up at the opening, except August was bigger and stronger and was holding the brunet’s chest down with his entire weight.

He grasped Marco’s mouth and forced it open.

_No._

Jean reacted instinctively. Pouring something that concentrated down Marco’s throat would _kill_ him, what the hell was August thinking, and even if it didn’t kill him it’d certainly—it’d certainly harm him and Jean _couldn’t let that happen_. He didn’t even realize he was moving until he saw felt his eyes burning gold.

The other omega didn't see him either. It gave Jean precious seconds to vault over the side of the coal pile and crash right into him—sending the older man flying off of Marco.

Marco rolled away, wheezing, which was just in time. The canister sailed through the air, open and spewing poison and smelling nauseating—and Jean saw what was going to happen a split moment before it did.

Fear, followed by panic, followed by a strange, eerie calm. Marco was safe. That was what mattered, no matter how much Jean’s stomach lurched when he saw the canister tip downwards and spill its contents all over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god the plottiest part is done oh my god


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is my problem,” Marco continued. “It’s mine and I’ve got few things that are mine. You weren’t supposed to get involved. I didn’t think you’d get involved, you can be such a stubborn ass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update everyone. Last chapter was the hardest to write because of plot; this chapter was the most edited because of porn. URghsldkfjsf
> 
> Things may be edited in the future, but I can't keep stalling on this. Here is an entire chapter most omegaverse fics would've had IN THE FIRST CHAPTER

 

 

11.

 

There was the rough press of wood paneling against his bare thighs and the warmth of a cloth to his face. The faint glow of lantern light lit up his surroundings. He’d been stripped down to his underwear and sat, dazed, as someone used the wet cloth to wipe down his skin.

He wanted Marco. Where was Marco?

“Outside,” the person holding the wet cloth said. Jean blinked up at him. Blond hair, worried blue eyes. Armin. If he strained, he could hear the familiar voices of other trainees outside the door. Jean’s heartbeat eased minutely, but was immediately eclipsed by the sick lurching in his gut.

Jean batted away Armin’s hand and retched into the closest receptacle

“…his heat,” Armin’s voice murmured softly through the door as Jean moaned and curled himself into a ball. “His body’s already sensitive to hormones because of it, and with the suppressant… I’m not sure, honestly. The heat might even end up helping him, but omega guys react unpredictably. Don’t come in here, Marco. I don’t think it’s safe yet.”

Marco? Jean wanted the comforting touch of the other boy to ground him, to hold his hand tight in the whirlwind of sick nausea pain boiling inside of him. But the whole point of this was to keep the poison away. It’d be worthless if Marco came in here and hugged him and got the shit all over him that way.

Didn’t stop Jean from _wanting_ it though.

“Jean, listen to me,” Armin said softly, hovering over him and eyes going soft with concern. “This is—well, it’s bad, so we’ve gotten the go-ahead to get back to camp despite the bandits escaping.” He gave a derisive laugh. “Sergeant Adelaide didn’t want to explain how a trainee got dumped in suppressant when it shouldn’t have been possible. We’re taking you back to camp, alright? But we’ve got to get ready. You can’t stay here—we need to get you to a bedroom. Come on. Up you go.”

“Okay,” Jean coughed, and tried futilely to push down the animalistic panic rising in his chest. “Okay.”

After a few false starts, they finally managed to stagger into the hallway one step at a time. Suddenly, Armin tensed against him.

“…out of here, haven’t you caused enough trouble?”

“On the contrary, this wasn’t my doing. I’m here to help.”

“Don’t touch him.” Marco’s voice was a solid growl, sending shivers up Jean’s spine. Also to the heat pooling in his groin, but _this was so not the time_. “If you even go near him…”

“You’ll what? Let the poison mess with his system more than it already has? How do you know it won’t affect him permanently? I’m here to help, child, and if you care about him you’ll let me do this.”

More murmuring. Voices. This was important, this was _incredibly_ important, and Jean should be fighting to stay awake. He needed to hear this.

He needed to hear this.

 

\--

 

Sebastian Greigrich was at his bedside. He was here, he was dangerous, and Jean realized he was too weak to get away from him. Before he could shout for help, growl in anger, _something,_ the man grabbed Jean’s arm and yanked up his sleeve.

“Did you ever think,” the man in the green coat said, “why your father was killed for his work? Suppressants have long been seen as unnatural, yes, but to kill over it? When it's been sanctioned by the government since the very beginning?"

Jean flinched when the man used a cotton ball to wipe down the skin of his inner arm.

“I am a scientist, Jean, but not a fool. The Naturalists' rage goes much deeper than a couple of test villages and Maria brats."

The man threw away the cotton ball and pulled out a filled syringe from the kit. Jean froze at the sight.

“It was man's desire to change nature itself,” Greigrich said, "that led us to where we are now. Caged like animals, and haunted by our failed creations."

Jean thrashed when the tip of the needle pierced his skin—an effort halted by Greigrich's vice-grip on his wrist as he ruthlessly injected itself into his vein.

It hurt more than anything Jean had ever felt in his life.

Ants crawled through his veins, twisting and stretching up his arms and into his neck and god. _God_. Everything burned, areas Jean hadn’t even known existed. Greigrich’s expression didn’t change even a fraction when Jean finally caved and tears streamed down his cheeks.

“We’re not on different sides,” Greigrich said. He removed the syringe and crunched it beneath his feet. "Not exactly. Only by perfecting the suppressant can we develop its perfect cure—something your father had been working on when those _fools_ made their move. Your next day of heat will hit you very hard, Jean, but there should be no lasting damage with theat prototype running through your blood. I made a promise to your father once, and I hope to keep it.”

Then he stood up and walked away.

Jean stared at the blood welling on his skin. It was a perfect round sphere, glistening in the lamplight. Like a pearl. A gem. Something precious, and of course something precious would _hurt_. The fire still burned under his skin, in his hands and up his chest and it was the most horrifying sensation, like too-big worms slithering up his blood vessels.

If it wasn’t for the fire, if it wasn’t for the blood.

If it wasn’t for the shattered glass on the ground when Jean glanced down while following Armin out, he would’ve thought the whole meeting was a dream after all.

 

\--

 

“It hurts,” he informed someone while he was ushered into the back of a wagon. He would've snarked that he could walk himself, thank you very much, except for the sheer pain rippling through him. “It hurts, it _hurts_.”

That someone yanked him down and draped a blanket over him. His scent was like a breath of fresh air. He could _fuck_ that scent. It moved away, and Jean jolted himself out of his daze to grab a leg.

“Jean!” his newly acquired leg scolded him, narrowly avoiding crushing Jean under his weight. “I'm a squad leader; I need to ride in front—”

Jean must have lost track of time, because one blink he was arguing with Marco's leg and the next the boy was curled beside him under the blanket. The crippling pain returned within seconds of regaining consciousness, and Jean plastered himself into the other boy's space to stave it off. It felt… safe. Cool.

Marco wrapped his arms around Jean’s shoulders and snuffled his hair. Even half out of it, Jean registered how angry and nervous and high-strung the boy was. It did cheer him just a bit, the confirmation that Marco was having just as shitty of a day as Jean was.

“Idiot,” the other boy bit out quietly. “You are such an _idiot_ , Jean Kirstein.”

_I am not,_ Jean wanted to grumble, but he was too busy basking in Marco's attention to care.

“This is my problem,” Marco continued. “It’s _mine_ and I’ve got few things that are mine. You weren’t supposed to get involved. I didn’t think you’d get involved, you can be such a stubborn ass.”

Jean ignored his bitching in favor of slipping a hand beneath Marco’s shirt. The other boy stiffened at the touch but didn’t move away, which Jean’s heat-addled mind happily translated as consent. He ran his palm up smooth skin, the wiry muscles underneath gently shifting every time Marco took a breath.

“Jean, I’m serious,” Marco said, voice fading as Jean felt sleep gently tug him back under. "I don't want you hurt."

"Too late," Jean yawned, and curled his face into the crook of Marco's neck before the boy's stricken expression could harm him.

He didn’t dream.

Well, he kind of did, except he knew it wasn’t a dream. It was a dream as much as Greigrich shooting his arm up with fire was a dream, except this one involved someone whispering secrets to him on the way back to camp.

“Jinae’s perfect,” Marco whispered into Jean’s hair. His right hand had shifted to Jean’s nape, thumb idly stroking the skin there and sending ripples of contentment up his spine. He didn’t seem to know he was doing it, and Jean was loathed to stop him. “Secure location, plenty of food and business, and a guaranteed idyllic life.

“But no one is allowed to leave.

“We’re a test village, that’s true,” Marco’s voice went soft. “A miniature society where the government can—can test their suppressant and observe what an all-beta community is like. How they could apply it on a larger scale.”

“We’re efficient with no heats or ruts to get in the way. But it’s also… easier for us to be controlled. No instincts to warn us, you know?” Another pause. “Nothing to stop some guy from holding a girl down, with him convinced it’s his right and her not realizing she can fight back. That kind of thing. Cracks underneath that perfect surface.”

A hand brushed Jean’s bangs back from his forehead. Soothing. Jean felt his eyes drooping closed. Tiredness dug into his bones, dragged him back down, until all he could sense was Marco’s voice quiet above him.

“I once promised Aug—I promised a friend I wanted to see the world beyond. I mean, we’re still within the walls… but _my_ walls have gotten a lot bigger. It’s so strange. Amazing. _You’re_ amazing, and I feel awful that—” Marco’s voice hitched. “—that I came out of Jinae ready to face the world, but now I’m scared.”

He stopped stroking his nape, and Jean had just enough awareness to want it back right now. Marco pressed his mouth to Jean’s cheek.

“I knew seeing the real world would change my ideas—the way I think. But I didn’t expect it to change _me_.”

 

\--

 

Jean woke up, and immediately wished he hadn't. It was like his last heat had been dipped into a fire pit and cranked up to five hundred, coursing all through his body and just. Not how he wanted to wake up, _ever_.

He moaned and rolled onto his stomach. Yanked his shirt off over his head and tossed it at whoever was pressed up against him.

Someone was pressed up against him.

The pain switched to arousal and then back to pain, and Jean's poor confused-as-fuck omega body couldn't take it. He smacked his new quarry on the shoulder and crawled up his body, just because being close to that scent helped cool him off a little. Just a _little_.

“Jean,” Marco—and it _was_ Marco, hair sticking up and eyes blinking wide with surprise—yelped, and tried to push Jean off. Jean smacked him again. He rubbed his cheek to Marco's and unceremoniously tried yanking the other boy's shirt off, because skin-on-skin seemed the best way to get this god-awful burning sensation out of his system.

“Jean,” Marco protested, sounding strangled and turned on and conflicted all at once. “Jean, we _can’t_ , just—just lie down and drink some water—”

“I don’t want _water_ ,” Jean overrode him. “I want _you_.”

“Oh shit,” Marco bit out, hands coming up and grabbing Jean by the waist. And then Jean found himself flipped onto his back and his breath knocked out of him. He wrapped enthusiastic arms around the boy's neck, ran his nails up his back and tilted his head in wait for a wet nose to press against his swollen mating gland—except suddenly Marco wasn’t there anymore. He’d wrenched himself back on the bed, flushed beet red and breathing hard but shaking his head. Leaving him.

“Marco?” Jean whined, animal-brain completely unable to process how Marco had been in his arms one second and then not in the next. The pain clambered back up his system with a vengeance.

The other boy shook his head, “Jean, we _can’t._ Put your clothes back on.”

Irritation and hurt batted down Jean’s arousal. Marco didn’t want him. Well, he did… but he didn’t. Jean’s higher brain-functions tried to explain the mess to his panicking, illogical omega-sense, to no avail. “Marco, _please,"_ and Jean was on his knees and crawling towards him, and Marco... Marco scrambled off the bed in horror.

“I can’t,” he said in a small voice _._ And then he was gone.

It was like Jean's strings had been cut.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He could feel his omega-sense's panic overriding his senses like a wave, but even so he couldn't _stop it._ Marco was gone. He had left, had finally seen Jean in all his messy, omega glory and it disgusted him. He tried focusing on his surroundings to stave off the panic. A cot in the room. A small, high-up window. A dresser. Empty. Empty except for Jean— _this was an isolation room, god he really was turning into Eren_ —and the lingering smell of Marco and _he’d left, Marco had left_. Marco had _abandoned_ him.

It felt like his heart was being sliced in half. What else had Jean expected. After everything, he couldn't have thought that shaking his ass would've gotten Marco to drop everything, but apparently his ever-hopeful omega-sense had...

"Jean," a voice called out from above him. He hadn't even realized he’d curled up into a ball until a hand shook his shoulder.

Jean cracked an eye open and saw blond hair, blue eyes. Armin again, of course it was. The boy put a cup of water on the night stand and tried to haul Jean up despite the growing intensity of the omega's growling. “Jean, you're burning up. Deep breaths, come on.”

“Fuck off,” Jean snapped, trying to curl back into a ball. Armin’s grabby-hands pulled him back, though, and the blond would never know how close Jean came to taking a bite out of his elbow. 

“You need help, Jean.”

“What are you going to do, recite a medical textbook and stand around looking confused when the heat just—just continues doing what it does?” Jean hissed, finally pulling himself upright. “All that junk in your head’s no use in the real world, you shrimp.”

Armin looked unimpressed at Jean's vitriol. "Look, we both know who asked me to check in on you. He didn't _know_ , Jean, you're smart enough to have already figured out Marco doesn't know the first thing about heat etiquette—”

Jean fumbled for the cup of water on the nightstand and downed it all in one go, if only to avoid looking at Armin’s face.

"Your system's going into overdrive," Armin continued, unrepentant, "It's flushing out the suppressant with a surge of hormones. For the next few hours, it’ll reach unbearable levels, even with proper—ah—self-stimulation. Your body’s trying to find a mate, Jean. You _need_ a partner.”

"What, are you offering," Jean snarked, and then lay down with his back pointedly towards the blond.

“This is serious,” Armin said.

"Go cry to Shadis about it."

"The Garrison's trying to figure out what happened. Shadis and the other instructors were called in to report. Training’s been suspended until some replacement superiors arrive tomorrow, so you won’t be missing out on too much. Jean, I know you’re listening. You know I’m right.”

He did, but that didn't mean he was going to give the almost-beta the satisfaction of an answer. Not even when Armin huffed and left, and Jean had to either try and eavesdrop his and Marco's conversation out the door or valiantly pretend he didn't exist. He was a hot little bean floating in an ocean of lava. He'd almost achieved the relative peace of being boiled alive when hands cradled his cheek, warm and familiar and—

And Jean found himself yanked back to reality. It filled him with violent, uncontrollable rage.

“No,” he shouted, tearing himself away from that stupid hand and crawling up the bed, to no avail. He ended up kicking the other boy in the stomach and letting out an enraged squawk when he was grabbed by the knee and yanked off his feet.

“I’m sorry,” Marco Bodt, Asshole Extraordinaire, just wrapped a warm arm around his thighs and lifted his calves off the bed. God, he smelled amazing, even if Jean was so pissed at him he could bash his skull in. “I’m sorry, I didn’t react well. Armin explained omega instincts and I didn’t _know_ you'd take it as rejection. That wasn't—I was surprised—”

"Hate you," Jean snapped at him, even if Marco's hold on him sent a shiver of arousal through his system. Traitorous, slutty omega-sense. "I hate you _so much_ —”

“I love you,” Marco interrupted— and Jean punched him in the face.

He got one second to see Marco’s pupils blown wide in shock before he hit him a second time, freeing himself enough to wriggle away and fall hard off the bed.

"For god's sake," Marco whined after him, one hand cradling his bruised cheek and the other grabbing Jean's ankle. The omega shook his hand off and tried to stand up—but found his legs as brittle as ash. Everything hurt for one agonizing moment, and then Jean crumpled to the ground.

“Jean!” Marco scrambled off the bed and tried hauling him off the floor. The omega sank his teeth into his wrist, and was somewhat surprised when Marco snarled at him in response. “Ow! Goddammit, Jean—can't you just let me—”

Jean growled and bit and scratched, because why couldn't this boy take a hint? “You had your chance and now it’s gone, so _no! No!_ My answer is _no,_ go _away_!”

He bit him again, and yelped when Marco tore his injured hand away and hauled Jean up—

It was less of a kiss and more of a crash, teeth clinking together with as much finesse as a train wreck. Jean let out a muffled scream, that was how angry he was, but when he tried to turn his head away Marco just followed him. His hands tugged at Jean’s jaw, uncharacteristically aggressive as he pressed their mouths together. The normal Marco would have backed off at the first sign of Jean's refusal, but the normal Marco didn't actually exist. Just this strange, contradictory Marco who kept yanking Jean's emotions around and expected him to just bare his neck when he decided to get his head of his ass and  _this wasn't fair._

Jean landed on the floor with his breath knocked out of him, Marco pinning him down a heartbeat later. He immediately fought to flip them over, but Marco was an immovable stone wall. No matter how Jean nipped and shoved and tried to squirm away, his traitorous body was cheerfully sabotaging his plans in favor trying to get _laid_.

“Jean, please," Marco said, "Let me help you." 

Jean yelped in surprise when Marco reached between them, raking fingers down his torso and wrapping around his cock. Right. Naked. Painfully aroused. He’d been so pissed he’d forgotten, but now it was the only thing he could focus on in the world.

“If you change your mind halfway I am going to _gut you,"_ Jean shoved at Marco’s shoulders even as he arched into his touch. He whimpered when Marco started moving his hand. Rough and like he was proving a point, which wasn't really how Jean's romantic-side had envisioned their next encounter. Then again, sex was such a base activity. Vulgar. Especially with Jean so riled up, unable to calm down even as the boy held him securely in his arms. “I'm going to throw your bones over the wall and—and—"

"Can you shut up for one moment," Marco said in a far too pleasant voice, which was the exact second Jean knew he'd lost. Dammit.

He didn’t resist when Marco manhandled them onto their sides, spooning from him behind as he began jerking him off in earnest. Jean groaned, overwhelmed by how good it all felt despite how much he wanted to roll over and throw a tantrum. How tight Marco’s warm fist was around him, how the boy buried his face into his neck and rocked his own hips slightly against his ass. He felt Marco’s dick pressing against him through his pants, a hot brand sliding between his cheeks.

“Fuck,” Jean gasped, tears pricking the edge of his eyes. Marco startled off his rhythm. “No—no, keep, ah, keeping doing that.”

“Sorry,” Marco made a weak gesture to move away, but Jean just growled and rolled his hips back against his erection. The boy gasped.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Jean pressed himself snug against Marco’s chest, closing his eyes and slowly thrusting into Marco’s damnably still hand. “I want you to, come on. I want to feel you.”

“Fuck,” Marco hissed before jerking Jean off ruthlessly as he rocked against him without any pretense. It was fire-hot and hard and Jean wanted to touch it, he really did, but he was getting close. He’d never felt so wound up and desperate and god, what the hell was happening to him? How could he go from sick to angry to aroused in what felt like seconds, and how much worse was this going to get?

Much worse, his body answered him. Because that good-slash-burning feeling ran from his slick-as-fuck entrance to his tightly drawn balls and up his dick and— and— he turned and pressed his face into Marco’s shoulder as he came with a pained hiss. It more out of relief than pleasure, like a cool splash of water on an overworked furnace, and the only thing that distracted him from his discomfort was Marco rubbing up against his soaked ass. His free hand clenched Jean’s hip, thumb rubbing circles in tandem with his increasingly erratic thrusts.

“Come on, Marco,” Jean said, tilting his head so he could lick a particularly dark freckle under his chin. He felt Marco’s breath hitch. “That’s it, take what you need, come on—”

Marco gasped when he came, soaking the front of his pants and dragging against Jean’s crack with an obscene squelch. It was hot and wet and Jean felt filthy just thinking of how he liked being able to feel the heat of Marco’s release through his pants.

Yeah, definitely filthy.

“Hmm,” Jean said incoherently when Marco regained enough motor function to press his stupid sweaty forehead to his shoulder. He hesitantly curled his hands around Jean’s waist, and when the omega didn’t push him away he wrapped him fully in his arms. It was too sticky and sweaty to be comfortable, but Jean didn’t care. He shivered when Marco snuffled against him.

“Smells good,” Marco sighed, lifting his head before reaching his mating gland. His heart-rate spiked: too close, too fast, too much oil being poured on his fire. Jean wriggled free and wrapped his arms around Marco instead. He buried his nose into the crook of his cool, unpresented neck and inhaled happily: Marco’s true scent was so _strong_ here. Cinnamon and cedar and a distinct muskiness that was completely and utterly _Marco_.

The panic should be hitting him, but it wasn't. It was like anger had been fucked out of him, leaving behind Jean's yearning. Desperation. He thrilled in the soothing feeling of Marco trailing his hands down Jean’s back. It felt—so good and right and so painful his chest hurt. He wanted this. He wanted to wake up curled in Marco’s scent every day for a while, and it scared him.

He hated wanting things he couldn’t have—he learned that the hard way with his dad.

Jean raised himself up on his elbow, looking down at Marco’s face. Marco looked right back. For once, there was very little stopping him from reading those brown eyes.

"So," he said intelligently. "Doing your civic duty, are you?"

"I don't want to fight," Marco sighed. He looked so tired. "I'm sick of fighting. Can't we just. Do this. Just for tonight?"

Jean wanted to scream that he didn't want it just for tonight, that this was unfair and insulting to his self-esteem and—and he turned his face into Marco’s shoulder instead, not wanting the other boy to see him so vulnerable.

“Hey—look at me,” he heard Marco whisper… before feeling a tongue lick a wet stripe up his cheek.

“Ugh!” Jean jerked back and batted the other boy’s face away. Marco laughed—the bastard! This was serious!—and caught his hand. He made a show of kissing his knuckles, each press eliciting a strange flutter in his stomach.

And then Marco licked up a finger and suckled the tip softly—and Jean couldn't fight it anymore. He couldn't. Because Marco was right: he didn't want to fight either. Not after the craziness that had just happened; not when he felt so out-of-sorts and sick and so pathetic he wanted to die.

“Okay,” Jean sighed, pulling at Marco’s collar so he’d get the hint and haul him up. Marco had the gall to look surprised, that idiot, but wasted no time in grabbing Jean by the waist and pulling them back to the rumpled bed. "Okay."

If he was going to regret this later, then so be it. He couldn't stop the tide.

 

\--

 

Everything went smoothly except for an awkward moment when Jean’s legs gave out again and he almost cracked his head against the bed frame. Marco caught him in time and simply threw him onto the cot without comment—and woah, flaunting power really did turn him on, he was such a romance-novel omega.

“Hurry up,” he growled and spread his legs once all clothes were off and that prickling under his skin had returned with a vengeance. Marco kissed his nose. Jean kicked him, too impatient to be ashamed, and let out an undignified squawk and Marco pushed him firmly onto his back in response. The boy traced a finger down Jean’s exposed erection, down his balls and following a line through the slick running down his perineum. Heat sizzled under his skin.

“Tell me what to do," Marco said.

"You put your cock in my ass," Jean bit out sarcastically, and Marco smacked his hip for his sass. He did flush a beautiful red, however, so Jean counted it as a win. "What, do I have to spell it out for you?"

"I don't know," Marco snapped back. "I don't _know_ anything, I've never—I mean, an omega's anatomy is kind of different and—"

"And it's the same concept," Jean wriggled uncomfortably, because Marco's finger was spreading the slick around his thighs and that was _awfully distracting_. "Finger me open, get me to relax, stick your dick in when there's no chance you'll tear me open."

"So romantic," the other boy sighed, and Jean wanted to tell him exactly how unromantic this was. But then Marco's fingers ran further back, ghosting the rim of his _soaked_ entrance before sweeping over his balls again. He rolled them curiously in his palm. “You let me know if it hurts, alright?"

"Fine," Jean said, and yelped when Marco just pressed his hand back and sank his fingers into Jean's wet heat.

It was obscene how easily his body opened up around the intrusion, how quickly his fingers sank in as if they belonged there. Easy because of his slick, with how loose he was with kisses and touches and his first orgasm. Jean groaned. He didn’t fucking care how well he took those damn fingers stroking inside him, he wanted Marco to _move_.

It took a few sharp pointers and one threat to kick the other boy in the head, but Marco finally found his internal vaginal opening and pressed his curious fingers inside.

Jean arched up violently. Holy crap. It was like he’d pressed some button that lit him up from the inside, and not necessarily in an orgasmic way either. He hadn’t realized how much he’d ached to have something inside there until the urge was lessened—not gone, Marco was only using fingers and his body was discerning enough to know that this wasn’t exactly what it wanted.

“Does that feel right?” Marco sounded legitimately curious, and Jean surprised himself at how he liked this sweet, fascinated Marco just as much as his bossy, teasing one. “That’s your vaginal entrance, right?”

“You are the _worst_ ,” Jean hissed. “Vaginal entrance? Seriously?”

“I can think of a dozen less sexy things,” Marco said distractedly. He dipped his fingers in deep than all the way out, watching Jean flutter around him and then repeated the motion. “Wow, you’re already good to go, aren't you?”

Jean flushed in embarrassment, “What are you _implying—_ “ right as the fingers withdrew and he was being flipped onto his hands and knees. And then he felt something hot and wet pressing between his ass cheeks, and Marco’s words came back to him. 

“Wait, wait,” Jean grabbed Marco’s wrist.

Marco froze immediately.

Jean didn’t let up his hold, instead pressing his forehead to the sheets. He breathed, trying to tamp down the panic in his throat. When he thought of them doing this, he’d never expected pity sex during an artificially enhanced heat. He wanted to throw a tantrum. It should have been _perfect_ , but if he stopped he honestly think he was going to die.

“If you’re not ready…” Marco sounded unsure.

“No,” Jean snapped, prying his fingers away from Marco’s wrists. He liked feeling Marco pressed up against him like this. He liked the hot puffs of breath on his nape, Marco’s steadying hand on his belly. The more he focused on all that, the less he felt out of control. “Just—just _fuck me_ already—“

“Are you—”

“Yes!”

“Okay,” Marco whispered, voice almost apologetic. Jean tensed in preparation, his entire back taunt with tension, but Marco just loved to tear down his defenses. He pressed a soft kiss in-between Jean’s shoulder blades, startling him right before nudging the head of his dick inside.

“Fuck,” Jean gasped at the initial resistance, clenching the sheets hard enough his knuckles turned white. It _burned_ , even as he felt Marco soothe his sides with his hands. “Fuck, shit, _fuck_.”

“Should I—” Marco paused for a moment.

“No, no, don’t stop,” Jean hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. “You  _can't,_ just. Keep going."

Because his body ached for it. Ached for that feeling of fullness, greedy even after the tip popped in and the rest was sliding its way home—he could _feel_ himself stretching around the hot brand inside him, holy fuck—and just. He wanted to cry at how much he wanted it. How desperate and embarrassing it all was, but all he could do was moan when he felt Marco bottom out.

In hindsight, he probably wouldn't have given a damn even if Marco had tore him open. Not when his body craved for him with every fiber of its being.

“I’m good,” Jean said once his mind clawed its way out of the sweet, cool satisfaction that settled came with being filled. He canted his hips up and pulled a gasp from Marco’s lips at the sudden movement. "I'm good, just go already...”

Marco grabbed Jean’s hips, halting his movements. “It's okay, Jean,” Marco’s lips brushed his ear. He pulled out slightly and thrust back in, wet and smooth and entirely too careful. “Don't be afraid to tell me if it hurts."

Jean felt his stupid heart flutter a bit. He wasn’t sure if he liked the sensation or not, but he nodded and Marco graced him a small smile.

Then he began to move in earnest, curiously sliding out for only an inch or two before pressing back in and increasing in speed as it went on and _oh_. It was—it was new and kind of scary but so, so hot because this was _Marco_. Jean hissed and rolled his hips back, mismatching rhythms at first but not caring in the slightest. It was awkward and tight and the squelching was awfully embarrassing, and it was perfect.

It was relief from that constant ache beneath his skin, and he didn't want it to stop.

He fucked himself backwards at a faster and faster pace, earning a startled huff out of Marco who—thankfully—got the hint. The sudden, sloppy thrusts stung, but Jean would take this than a slow drawl any day. Besides, no matter how rough they moved together, Marco kept pressing wet kisses to his neck, back, shoulders and fuck. Jean _loved_ it.

It took an embarrassingly short time before his toes were curling, pride long gone. “Oh god,” he whined. “God, I’m gonna—”

“If you want to come, you can tell me,” Marco said conversationally, though his voice was husky and low enough to earn a full-body shiver from Jean. “But I’d like to stay inside you a bit longer.”

Jean would have snarked back if he wasn’t too busy curling his fingers in the sheets. He’d never ridden the edge of orgasm for this long, and it was driving him _insane_.

He turned so he could hook an arm around Marco’s shoulder and lick into his mouth. Marco responded enthusiastically, pulling out as he rolled Jean onto his back. Jean sighed when he slid back in, warm and comfortable and just—good. Different good. It was nice being like this, which was a strange and probably inappropriate feeling about having a dick up one’s ass. But it _was_ nice. Jean could see the flushed red of Marco’s cheeks, the way his chest heaved and the pleasure lit bright in his eyes. The way he licked his lips before he took what he needed, which Jean was more than happy to give him. _So close,_ Jean’s heat commented, and he promptly told it to shut up.

Marco seemed to feel it too, because his thrusts gentled he was grinding slowly rather than pounding Jean into the cot. Jean wrapped his legs around Marco’s waist and rested his hands on his chest, feeling the way the other boy’s muscles shifted as they moved. The way his chest expanded and contracted with his every breath.

God, Marco was so _alive_.

“Marco,” he groaned, not exactly sure where he was going with this. He nuzzled at his jaw instead. He needed… he needed… he needed to come, that’s what, but he _couldn’t._ “Marco, _Marco—“_

He let out a watery gasp when he realized why, clenching so hard around Marco he stopped moving. The other boy hissed in surprise but waited patiently when Jean buried his face into Marco’s neck. He whispered into his ear, “Have to put your fingers inside me. Now.”

Marco huffed his confusion into his hair before his brain kicked in. “Oh. Oh! To—”

“Yes, _that_. If it wasn’t obvious to you, you don’t—you don’t have a knot—fuck!” Jean shivered, trying to tamp his horniness down for one second and failing. He wasn't even sure how he was talking, his mind was such mush.

“Hey, it's okay,” Marco soothed, but then resumed his rocking in an almost mischievous, dick-headed maneuver. Before Jean could retort, however, he felt Marco’s fingers prying his legs apart, spreading him full and staring down at the wet mess where they were connected. God, this position was vulnerable. Embarrassing. Jean felt his chest flush red at the inspection, his entrance stretched around Marco’s dick and the entire area gleaming with slick. The way Marco hadn’t stopped rocking into him, and it was both mortifying and so fucking hot to catch a glimpse of that dick slipping in and out of him and—

One hand spread his entrance and the other slipped one, two fingers in alongside his cock. Oh. Oh god. That was kind of a stretch—a lie, it burned even worse than the beginning, but as much as Jean wanted to hiss he didn’t want it to end either—and it was too much, this was a bad idea. Jean hissed and tried squirming away, feeling like his insides were going to tear and—

And then suddenly the pressure went from grit-worthy to perfect, like something inside him clicked itself into place. Jean almost sobbed in relief. He finally felt _right_. Good. Beautifully perfect. Like this was an important moment in his life.

He reached up in invitation. “ _Marco_ ,” he gasped, head thrown back, “ _Oh_. _”_

Marco let out a ragged breath—the way he stuttered inside meant he was close too—and curled his free hand around Jean’s outstretched one. It was soft and intimate and Jean didn’t _care_. The taller boy gently pinned their interlaced fingers back behind Jean’s head, giving himself more leverage to—well. To fuck him into the mattress.

As Jean shuddered beneath him, Marco pressed his face into the crook of his neck over his mating gland. He pressed a kiss with a hint of teeth to the swollen skin and that was it. Jean was gone.

His orgasm ripped through him, sudden and fierce and so strong it sent shivers all the way down to his toes. It was twice as—no, three times as—strong as the first one spent on the floor, so much so he wanted to cry. It was like a blasted itch being soothed, enough that the pressure under his skin relaxed a little. A breath of fresh air. Marco let out a startled groan as Jean clenched even tighter around him, over and over again in waves.

“ _Jean_ ,” he whispered like a prayer into his ear, lasting a few moments of being milked before shuddering inside him with a gasp. Jean let out a startled noise at the sudden heat but didn’t flinch away; rather, he drew close and stroked a finger down his nape as Marco withdrew sticky fingers and rode out his orgasm. God, he was beautiful like this: face flushed red and hair mussed.

_I want you inside me forever,_ Jean thought dazedly, which was a stupid, sentimental _cheesy_ thing to even think. He let out a disappointed noise when Marco pulled out—one last electrifying sizzle before endorphins lulled him into a doze—and rolled off so he didn’t crush him. Unable to help resist, Jean found himself chasing after him—pressing soft kisses up his arm and neck because he wasn’t ready to let him go just yet.

He loved the way Marco let out a huff of laughter, how he squirmed when Jean blew air behind his ear where Jean had long suspected he was ticklish. He was pliant and open under Jean’s hands. Adorable.

“Feel better?” Marco managed, and all of Jean’s warm and fuzzy feelings suddenly evaporated.

Oh.

He’d forgotten.

This wasn’t some romance novel where two friends fell into bed together and lived happily ever after. This was a favor because of the suppressant. Because Jean’s hormones had gone completely insane and Marco was the only one he’d accept between his legs.

“Yeah,” he managed, trying to keep his voice neutral. He knew he should thank Marco for his help. Jean should nip his crazy, irrational feelings right in the bud, because hadn’t Marco made it clear to him that they were just friends?

_He loves me_ , Jean’s stupid inner voice whined, but that didn’t mean a thing. Marco still needed _time,_ and to be honest he probably deserved it after all the times Jean had leaned on him for support. Even if he didn’t like the idea that he couldn’t have this: Marco breathing softly beside him, sweat beading his temple and expression soppy.

Jean opened his mouth to clarify their boundaries, to rip off the bandage and face the fallout like the soldier he was. But no words came out. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t shatter the illusion even more, the loving touch Marco had used in their fucking that Jean knew he hadn’t imagined.

He was a coward, but he never claimed not to be.

He was going to savor this content rest as long as the universe allowed him.

 

\--

 

“That wasn’t your first time,” Jean said, some time after Marco had demanded they change the sheets and air out the room. He lay sprawled on the fresh covers, still naked and more clear-headed than he’d been in days. In fact, half an hour cuddling with Marco had greatly lifted his mood. Heat-happy endorphins were ridiculously effective.

Jean supposed he should be pissed, but he was sick of being pissed. He stretched out on the bed instead, lazy.

“Maybe I’m just a quick study," Marco said.

“I know what a virgin top looks like,” Jean snorted. “Mina still hasn’t forgiven me.”

“What about Eren?”

“Eren’s an omega. We have the same junk. And stop avoiding the question. I didn’t notice you smelling different, but maybe this was before… everything. Was it before you came to the military?” Jean was surprised to find his curiosity overriding whatever jealousy he might have had mid-coitus. He was possessive, true, but jealousy was the second cousin of anger and _hello_ , endorphins. He thought of August in his hooded uniform and seeing him speak quietly to Marco in the forest. “It wasn’t that August guy, was it?”

“August? No,” Marco rolled over onto his stomach so that their shoulders brushed. Jean couldn’t help but stare at the perfect curve of his ass. “And it’s not like I have a _lot_ of experience.”

Jean narrowed his eyes at him.

"Fine, just,” Marco relented. He ran a hand down Jean’s arm and Jean shivered. “How do I say it. Mylius and I had a thing at the beginning of training, after you told me. Ah. Guys were okay.”

Whatever Jean was expecting, that wasn’t it. “ _Mylius_?”

“Yes, we—”

“Mylius? You slept with _Mylius_?”

“Just twice,” Marco said, “before I’d had enough and stopped, alright? I was curious.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jean put a hand to his head. “Mylius is an _alpha_.”

“He’s unpresented.”

“An unpresented alpha,” Jean said. “How the hell did you convince him to…”

Marco flushed pink, and Jean’s jaw dropped even further.

“Oh my god.”

“Jean,” Marco sighed.

“Did you _bottom_ for him?”

“Like you said, he’s—well, he’s got a dominance thing. It’s why we only did it twice. He wouldn’t let me top.”

“ _You_ shouldn’t have let him top,” Jean growled, mostly because the thought of Marco ceding to Mylius was just _wrong_. Marco might be soft and squishy and too nice for his own good, but there was no question who outranked who when it came to Mylius. Though now the other boy’s comment during their fight made sense. “What the hell was he thinking?”

Marco shrugged. “He has a thing for beta guys. He’s been eying Nack all year.”

Jean narrowed his eyes at him, “But _you’re_ not a beta.”

Marco flinched. “I am.”

“You’re not,” Jean pushed, slipping his arm through Marco’s and propping his head on his shoulder with a dirty smirk. His ass still ached, both inside and out feeling thoroughly used. “You didn’t feel like a beta to me.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Marco tried tugging his arm away, but Jean just tightened his hold. “Just—you don’t understand. I grew up breathing suppressant all my life.”

“ _So_?” Jean was suddenly ticked at Marco’s woe-is-me-bullshit. Seriously, it was getting old. “Last time I checked you haven’t presented yet. How the hell do you know your designation, ‘cause from my point of view you’re showing plenty of signs you’re an—”

“Don’t say it.”

“An alpha,” Jean continued, and Marco flinched as if he’d been struck. “You’re an _alpha_ —”

“Shut _up_!” The brunette snapped, yanking his arm from Jean’s hold. He looked about ready to bolt, and _god_ things had been going so well. Normally Jean would have apologized, but this was getting ridiculous.

“Oh fuck you,” Jean pulled away angrily. Marco wasn’t ever going to open up to him about this, was he? He entertained storming out the door first, but sheer omega instinct made that impossible. “I hate it when you get like this."

Marco stared at him so long Jean felt his anger peak. He turned his head and stared pointedly at the dresser beside the bed.

After a moment, he felt the bed shift as the other boy moved closer. An arm tried curling around his waist and Jean elbowed it out of the way. A warm body pressed itself flush against his back. Jean kicked his knees. Marco carded his fingers through his hair, pushed his face into the crook of his neck and slipped a thigh between his legs. Jean twisted around to bite him hard on the meaty part of his shoulder, enough to break the skin. Marco moved quick as lightning, nipping hard on Jean’s ear as punishment.

“Ow! Fuck!”

“It was supposed to be a clean retrieval mission,” Marco said, giving Jean’s ear one last stinging bite before letting go. “Get the seal, escape through the coal shaft. Easy in and out, and everything would’ve been _fine_.”

Marco ran an open palm down Jean’s side, dipping into the groove of his hip and scratching a hand through the hair around his dick. Jean twitched but refused to turn around completely, gaze still trained on the dresser. His ear stung,

“I need you to know I had no idea they’d hurt you,” the freckled boy whispered. “I didn’t know about which group they’d send to steal shipments, or what they’d try and do to you once captured—or anything August did. As far as I knew, their main goal was to get the Sergeant’s seal from her office.”

Jean huffed. “And you just had no idea. Innocent bystander. Never mind you’re apparently all chummy-chummy with that August bitch.”

“Not so much anymore,” Marco replied, voice flat. “They don’t trust me.”

The silent question was obvious.

“I trust you,” Jean admitted slowly, finally turning around. The words felt heavier in his mouth than… before, on the way to suppressant-hell. Because he knew more now, didn’t he? Enough to know when Marco told the truth. He tried to steady his gaze when he added, softly, “Don’t make me regret it.”

And there was nothing better than to catch the wondrous expression spreading across Marco’s face, as if he really didn’t expect Jean to accept him like this. As if Jean was a marvel.

“Thank you,” he said, so sincere something in Jean’s chest fluttered. He was saved from having to answer when the other boy leaned forward and kissed him: soft, careful and comforting like home, and this was going to ruin him, wasn’t it?

To _know_ what it’d be like together, to feel so loved only to have it taken away again.

Which was why it was the perfect time for Jean to ruin the moment by grabbing his ass.

“Jean!” Marco let out a startled yelp. He batted his hand away. What he didn’t realize, however, was by doing so he revealed his vulnerable front: an opening Jean took to his full advantage. “Jean, don’t—”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jean said, not sounding sorry at all. He pressed into Marco’s space and ran greedy hands down his chest, stomach, groin, where Marco’s dick was perking up with interest. “Didn’t realize we’d switched back to friend mode already.”

“Don’t be crude,” Marco grunted, allowing Jean to roll him onto his back. “Gre—they told me your heat's going to bad for a day—”

“A day,” Jean rolled his shoulders and straddled Marco’s stomach, slick soaking _everything_. At Marco’s little groan, he also managed to back right up to his hardening cock. “Good to know; now I know when to keep time.” He slipped his hands up smooth muscle, taunt under a layer of baby fat that, at almost seventeen, Marco was months from shedding completely. He tickled up his torso and traced the freckles all the way to his chest, where he pinched Marco’s nipples.

“Stop it,” Marco hissed, but the flushed red of his cheeks betrayed how much he liked it. “That’s— _ah_ —”

“If you really want me to stop, you can just throw me off,” Jean said. He reached a hand up and cupped a cheek. “Right?”

Marco’s eyes fluttered closed, which Jean knew was assent. He smirked and trailed his hand back down, thumbing Marco’s chest with both hands. He rolled his nipples, gently pressed his nail to the indent, and, after running his hands out to massage his stupid freckled chest in general, leaned over and pressed his mouth to one.

The other boy _keened_ , hands flying up to grab his hips as he arched into Jean’s mouth, teeth, tongue. Jean liked the way Marco fell apart like this. The way his chest heaved as Jean licked and suckled one pert nipple as he twisted the other one in his fingers. _God_ , he was adorable.

“More,” Marco whispered when Jean crawled up and gave him a soft kiss. “Please, _please_ , Jean.” His hand ran down the curve of Jean’s ass, one finger dipping slightly into his crack. He probably didn’t even know he was doing it, the dense bastard. Jean gave his bottom lip one last nip before he reached back and stroked the dick pressing insistently between his cheeks. Hot and wet and, well. Nice.

Marco wasn’t the only one who got to spoil someone.

Jean rose up on his knees, positioned himself, and sank down with little to no hesitation. They both let out quiet moans, Jean’s with a tinge of surprise—he’d expected the same discomfort as before, but that was hardly the case. The way was eased by how wet and loose he was from already being well-fucked, so he barely had to adjust before he moved. Steady, sure rolls that had Marco shivering beneath him.

This was good. Natural. Weird in how unweird it was, and if that didn’t validate Jean’s imprinting suspicion than nothing would. Marco slotted inside him _perfectly_ , and that wasn’t the kind of thing that just happened.

“Want me to…?” Marco brushed his waist with a hand, and the idea of Marco flipping them around and fucking into him brutally was tempting. Really tempting.

But Jean was tired and didn’t feel like letting go of his control over the situation. Let this stay low-key.

“No,” Jean said. “Lay back and think of Wall Sina or something, I’ve got this.”

“Not exactly sexy.”

“Than I guess we’re even.”

“Vaginal entrances are sexy. Wall Sina isn’t sexy.”

“Better than a titan.”

“Stop it,” Marco laughed, strong and joyful even Jean bounced in his lap. “God, you’re awful.”

“Hey,” Jean said, offended. He rolled his hips, fucking himself faster, rougher, dirtier, until there was no more talk of titans or other silly nonsense like that. Even low-key, the slide of Marco’s cock inside him felt pretty damn good. Marco sighed and tilted his head back, exposing his neck while making sure to rest his hands loosely on Jean’s hips.

“So good for me,” Jean whispered, running a hand down Marco’s cheek. He felt drunk on the expression the brunet returned his way, flushed and biting his lip. “Letting me fuck you like this. You like it?”

Jean watched the line on that neck jump the closer the other boy got to coming; the way his lips parted slightly, the tip of his pink tongue licking them lightning fast. _Gorgeous_.

“Y-Yeah,” Marco finally breathed. “Jean— _please_ —”

He moaned appreciatively when he finally dragged Marco’s orgasm out from him, entranced by the way Marco gasped and arched as he came into his willing body. When he felt Marco nearing the end, he squeezed. The other boy let out a startled yelp and tried sitting up, arm scrambling to try hold him still. Jean didn’t let him, instead pushing Marco’s chest down with an arm and working him through, not stopping until Marco began to whine in discomfort.

With one last roll, he slid off of Marco and nudged his erection between Marco’s legs. It took a few tries—Marco was really out of it, wow—but soon the other boy caught on: he pressed his thighs together tight, letting Jean fuck between them with an encouraging noise. Jean’s eyes fluttered closed as his focus narrowed to that sweat-slicked skin enveloping his cock. God, he was so _tight_ and _warm_.

“I don’t care, you know,” he whispered against Marco’s neck. His Adam’s apple bobbed under his lips. “I don’t _care_ what the suppressant’s done, you’re _mine_.”

The other boy let out a soft noise before winding his arms around him, hugging him close and pressing a kiss to his face as Jean rutted once, twice, before coming with a gasp. He held Jean up as he went boneless above him, hand lightly stroking Jean’s nape as the boy tried catching his breath.

“Don’t you dare wake me up to clean,” Jean managed after finding his voice, and he rolled off to cuddle beside Marco. “I’m going to sleep.”

“You’re in the wet spot,” Marco pointed out unnecessarily, but otherwise looked content.

Jean wrinkled his nose. After a long, content moment counting the number of freckles on Marco’s arm—thirty-eight—he muttered: “…can’t believe you bottomed for _Mylius_.”

“Jealous?”

“Yes,” Jean scowled, poking Marco’s arm freckles. “What does he have that I don’t have?”

Marco actually grinned, looking playful. “How 'bout you prove that to me now?”

“I said _sleep_ ,” Jean mumbled. “Sometime else.”

He didn’t bother mentioning that, if he and Marco returned to being friends in the morning, there wouldn’t be any more opportunities in the future. Denial was beautiful. “I dunno. Thinking maybe it’ll be better than Mylius, ‘cause omegas don’t register on the dominance spectrum. We’re free dick.”

“Two for one,” Marco agreed, and Jean slapped his side lightly. “Value meal!”

“Oh my god,” Jean buried his face into the pillow. “I don’t know you. You’re dead to me.”

“Extra is always good,” Marco said, stone-faced, and Jean kicked him.

“ _Good night_ , Marco.”

When he turned to glare at him, Marco just grinned at him dopily. Jean colored in embarrassment, like he’d done something weird in front of a crush and hoped to god he didn’t see. Not that Marco hadn’t seen him at his worst—food poisoning wasn’t fun for _anyone_ —but still.

“Good night Jean,” Marco said, still smiling big.

God, he was such… such a dork. A cute, handsome dork Jean wanted to have to himself forever, but a dork nonetheless.

He settled himself down on a pillow and placed a hand on Marco’s chest. Felt his heartbeat thumping soothingly against his palm, until his eyes dropped closed and sleep enveloped him.

 

\--

 

When he woke up the next morning, the other boy was gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marco you little shit.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The woman had the gall to laugh, “Oh, kid. You’re never out. Not when you’re so close to Janus’s target he’s practically drooling down Levi’s neck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the plot thickens (kind of.) Marco continues to be stupid. Jean's patience is really stretching thin. Sorry for the feels; I can assure you that the boys DO work it out eventually, no worries about the ship coming together.

12.

 

Jean was going to kill him.

Marco had half a mind to tell the pigeon to go fuck itself when it’d pecked at the isolation room window. He’d put in his due for the Naturalists and it had almost cost him his—it had almost cost him Jean. They’d had to trust _Greigrich_ in the end to save him, and if that didn’t go against everything Marco believed in. When did the Equalizers become the good guys, and the Naturalists the bad?

August would have called him naïve, but August had clearly gone batshit crazy.

He tried settling back in bed and curling an arm around Jean’s waist. It was going to be an awkward morning either way, because Marco still wasn’t sure if he was ready for—if he was—

He couldn’t even say the words in his head, how the hell was he going to say any of this to _another person?_

But Marco wasn’t stupid. Just being there when Jean woke up would earn him points. But the pigeon just kept tapping the window, and Jean’s brow started to furrow like he was going to wake up, and Marco realized with a sinking feeling that he had to choose. Again.

He hated making these decisions, because no matter what he did he was always failing someone.

In the end, Marco finally got out of bed for several reasons: it was too soon to show his true loyalties, not when the Naturalists kept threatening to send someone else to take his place; August might not be in his right mind, but he was _August,_ and whatever Marco did would affect the man’s standing too; and Jean…

He didn’t want to give them any more reason to go after Jean.

So he ended up tugging on his clothes and looking around the room for a pen and paper, and then trying not to panic when he realized there were none.

Jean was _so going to kill him_.

With one last glance back at the bed, Marco quietly shuffled out of the room and shut the door after him.

If they wanted to meet with him, then he was going to meet them far, far away from Jean’s location. It was the only reassurance he had as he stood ramrod straight against an isolation room at the other side of camp. He sent the pigeon off and shut his eyes as he waited.

Was this nervousness? Terror? Whatever it was, it felt uncomfortably human.

“Hello, hello!” a voice suddenly sang out from behind him. Marco jumped. He turned the corner to find a woman dressed in a Survey Corps uniform approaching on horseback, a large smile on her face. “Marco, right?”

“Marco Bodt, sir,” he responded stiffly. She nudged the horse closer than was comfortable and let it give his hair a sniff—its nose damp and cold against his forehead; was this a scare tactic?—before dismounting.

“Hanji Zoe,” the woman introduced herself. She pulled a medium-sized box out from under her cloak. Marco caught the silver glint of her ring as she held it out to him, grin unwavering. “You’re August’s boy, right? He said to give this to you.”

“Tell him I’m out,” Marco said, making no move towards the box. “It’s—I can’t keep doing this."

The woman had the gall to laugh, “Oh, kid. You’re never out. Not when you’re so close to Janus’s target he’s practically drooling down Levi’s neck.”

“Jean’s _off-limits_ ,” Marco snapped before he could stop himself, and then cleared his throat to hide his embarrassment.

The woman cocked her head. It was the only warning he got before she was suddenly up in his space and lifting his chin. She boldly considered the vulnerable skin of his throat, which sent ripples of—not anger exactly, but something between rage and discomfort down Marco’s spine.

Marco fought the urge to blush. There was no ignoring the bites blossoming red along his jugular, the marks running down under his collar and along his upper back. He couldn’t even forget the low moans Jean had given him, sweet and pliant and so good he’d gotten hard embarrassingly fast.

He’d wanted to _eat_ him, claim him, and if that wasn’t the most terrifying thing in the world.

“Of course he is, even if Janus thinks we can use him… or his death,” Hanji shrugged, breaking Marco out of his reverie. She stepped back and Marco immediately covered his neck with a hand, face red. The only thing that eased his mortification was the brief whiff of the woman’s scent he caught. She smelled… wrong. He’d thought he smelled alpha female at first, but closer up she smelled more like a beta.

 _No wonder she’s with the Naturalists_ , Marco had the time to think before the woman sighed and said, “But that’s not going to stop him. What are you going to do when he loses patience? One trainee against some real hard-hitters from the Garrison?”

She lifted the box up. There was a slight clinging sound as if there were vials inside, and Marco gave it a suspicious frown even when Hanji said, “So good news for you: we’re gonna pull the wool over his eyes with this.”

Marco startled. “You’re working against Janus?”

“More like Janus is out of control,” Hanji’s expression turned serious. “Here we are trying to stop the suppressant trade and he’s off on a personal vendetta. Trust me, all of us in the Survey Corps aren’t happy with him. Especially now with the perfect opportunity to actually get things done...”

Of course there was another plot. When wasn’t there a plot? Marco didn’t want to be a part of this. He didn’t want to worry about his fellow soldiers turning him in, to worry about the enemy outside the walls and the one within. He wanted to run and forget, but the silver ring on his finger forced him to hold firm. August had sent Hanji with a way to stop Janus from killing Jean; in some twisted way, he probably considered this an apology.

Not that it meant he’d forgiven him completely. Not after seeing how miserable Jean had been last night: fighting against his own body, Marco, the world. It filled him with guilt, because Marco had imagined their first time—if there was a first time—to be softer. More romantic.

 _Naïve_ , August’s voice whispered in his head, and Marco hissed under his breath.

“Take the box,” Hanji said. She threw it at him out of nowhere and he caught it on reflex. “Good boy! Now, come over here…” she jerked her chin towards the forest. “And I’ll tell you everything.”

 

\--

 

Jean was going to _kill Marco_.

For a lot of reasons, but first and foremost for making the morning after so damn awkward.

He’d finished taking a quick, guilty shower and was pulling on his clothes when Connie Springer walked into the bathhouse with a yawn.

“Wassup,” he mumbled sleepily, even as Jean froze in mortified surprise. He walked a little past him before suddenly stopping and turning around. “Woah. Did Marco transform into a bear or something?”

“Shut up,” Jean snapped, flushing red when he realized his collar was unbuttoned. He quickly finished dressing and adopted his best arrogant sneer. “Or do you want me to tell you the details?”

“Ew, no, gross,” Connie backed off, which Jean took as his cue to flee.

He knew things were just going to go downhill from there, because yesterday’s events were finally sinking in.

It was one thing to be a pariah when it came to trainee gossip but when it involved _actual military operations_? Yeah, this was a whole new level. This was Jean Kirstein being the poor omega in such a heat an entire squadron of trainees had to be shipped back early. And while no one dared suggest heats didn’t exist, it wasn’t usually called to attention. Not like this.

And of course the gentlemanly Marco—Jean suppressed a snort, because girls still liked the guy despite him having zero interest in breasts—had played the valiant hero here. With his dick.

This train of thought was the opposite of helping, especially as he neared the dining hall. Jean stopped at the entrance and took a breath. Then, he waltzed inside.

There weren’t a lot of trainees milling about so early in the morning, so the hall felt much emptier. It was kind of a relief, because as Jean had suspected there was someone familiar waiting for him at their usual table.

“Jean,” Marco Bodt said warmly, breakfast spread in front of him.

Jean didn’t move for an excruciating second. Finally, he forced his feet forward.

“I buttered you some toast,” Marco said, infuriatingly… him. He took a neat bite and Jean couldn’t help but stare at the way his lips pressed against that slice. It should’ve been kind of gross watching Marco’s mouth covered in crumbs and butter, but instead Jean was unwillingly reminded of Marco’s mouth pressing kisses to his skin last night and—

“Omega males don’t eat during heat,” Jean said flatly, taking the seat across from him.

Guilt flitted across Marco’s expression then, but they were in public. Marco _hated_ looking anything less than put together in public, and so the boy quickly schooled his face into a smile.

Jean narrowed his eyes. Fine. Two can play at that game.

“What are you doing here then?” Marco continued.

“Looking for you.”

“Could have been in the showers.”

“Nope,” Jean said, and because the waiting was killing him he just went for it. Slowly, slow enough for Marco to see it coming from a distance away, Jean leaned forward.

Marco jerked back, smile dropping from his face like a hot coal.

Despite expecting it, the motion still cut like a knife to the chest. Jean sat back and looked away, feigning arrogant bluster rather than letting Marco see his face.

“So it’s over, huh?” he said, voice conversational. “My twenty-four hours are up?”

“Jean…”

“I knew you’d want to give me a guilty breakfast binge,” Jean interrupted him, as if the last few seconds hadn’t happened. “Least you could do for sticking your dick up my ass and then leaving me cold.”

Marco winced, but Jean wasn’t done. “But it’s not like you did anything wrong. So, you know. Not sure what you’re apologizing for.”

“ _Jean_ … that’s not…” Marco lifted his hand, and Jean _knew_ he was going to go for his cheek, he fucking knew it, so he managed to jerk away before the freckled bastard could make contact. See how that made him feel.

“Fuck off,” he snarled, before getting up and stalking out.

This was not how he wanted his morning to go.

He shouldn’t have been surprised when Marco found him an hour later, holed up in a particularly large tree and trying his best to melt his face into the bark.

“Go away.”

“Jean,” Marco had the gall to climb up the trunk and crawl onto the branch Jean was sitting on. Jean slowly turned from the bark and gave him a glare that could burn through steel.

But Marco clearly had no survival instinct, because he just sat there awkwardly rather than leave. He was a respectable distance away, far enough from usual that Jean felt like an icy gulf had opened between them. Finally, Marco said, “Are you feeling better today?”

Jean gritted his teeth. “ _Go away_.”

“I’m just—”

“Why are you making this so difficult?” Jean snapped, bristling like an angry cat. “You can’t fucking have your cake and eat it too—you can’t just—do you know how much of a dick move it is when you’re trying to act like nothing’s happened?”

Marco’s expression shuttered. “I know I—didn’t handle the morning well, but we agreed it was a one time thing.”

“We agreed you’d help me,” Jean said. “There was nothing in there about being treated like garbage to be thrown out.”

Which wasn’t exactly fair, since Jean knew Marco’s feelings for him ran deep and his absence this morning was probably due to more secrets and political games. But he was so _angry_ and—and _hurt._ He wanted Marco to hurt too, and was gratified when he caught the guilty glint in the other boy’s eyes.

“Jean…”

“ _No_ ,” he said. “If you keep bothering me, I will _kick you off this tree_.”

Another tense silence followed, made worse by the obviously distressed omega pheromones Jean couldn’t help but cloud the air with. It was so bad even he could pick up on his own discomfort.

Marco looked a bit broken, kind of like he was about to cry. Which was crazy because he’d never seen Marco cry. Marco was a _rock_ , except he was more like a piece of glass pretending to be a rock, who’d done such a good job of it that even Jean forgot sometimes. He might deserve everything he’d get, but it still felt wrong for Jean to make Marco _cry._

After an agonizing moment, Jean was surprised to see the boy sidling closer to him rather than retreat as he usually did. What the hell? He leaned right into Jean’s space despite having a clear view of Jean’s murderous bite-happy scowl, and pressed his face into Jean’s neck.

Jean trembled in… anger? Hurt? Want coursing through him, betraying his conviction by drawing attention to how fucking _good_ Marco smelled, even now?

It wasn’t fair.

“I’m sorry,” Marco said, lips soft against the vulnerable skin right below Jean’s swollen mating gland. “I’m sorry I’m such a _mess_ , I can’t even… I don't know how to explain it. It's so new, Jean. Everything feels so new, and it _scares me_.” Jean shivered again—this time it was definitely want, no question about it. It pinged some deep, instinctual urge inside of him: he wanted to wrap himself around his mate and destroy whatever was causing him pain.

 _Not my mate_ , he reminded his omega-sense, even if that protest was sounding more and more absurd by the day.

Jean closed his eyes, hating himself but unable to stop, and turned his face to snuffle Marco’s hair. God, this was what he’d wanted this morning. Just this. To wake up and scent Marco, get one last confirmation that he wasn’t insane and Marco _loved_ him and just… have something to hold him through this heat. Instead he got a cold bed and disappointment. It was knife to the gut because he’d been _hopeful_.

“Don’t be mad at me,” Marco finally whispered.

Jean huffed. “Someone needs to be.”

“I don’t care if someone else is mad. I care if _you’re_ mad.”

“I have every right,” Jean hissed, not exactly sure why he was getting so defensive. “Everyone thinks it’s _my_ fault this is weird but it’s not. It’s _yours_.”

It was like something fiercely guarded inside Jean’s chest was cracking, and he was helpless to stop it. “And then it pisses me off ‘cause I don’t know you at all but _you_ know _me_. I can’t tell what’s fake and what’s real.”

Marco didn’t say anything for a long moment, before he finally turned his lips away from Jean’s neck. “This is real.”

“Oh yes, spying on me for the Naturalists—”

“It’s real,” Marco repeated, pulling away. Jean felt irrationally disappointed at the loss of heat, and had to keep from grabbing him back out of sheer will. “But I need time. Jean, please. You said you trusted me.”

Jean felt whatever was inside his chest crack definitively, one long line from top to bottom. He tilted his head for a kiss he knew wasn’t ever going to come, just to prove Marco’s point. One last fuck you in the face. “I do. But trust is supposed to be a two-way street, Marco. Don’t forget that.”

 

\--

 

Contrary to all common sense, things were way less awkward on the trek back to the barracks.

“Reiner mentioned the new instructor arrived,” Marco said calmly, like he wasn’t trying to edge Jean off the path and into a bush at the same time. Jean pushed him back and squawked indignantly when Marco shoved his fingers into his side. “Looks like we’ve got afternoon practice today.”

“Jerk!” Jean hissed, twisting to escape Marco’s evil, tickling fingers. He whirled around and grabbed Marco’s ass. Marco stumbled back with a yelp, face flushed red, which was when Jean dashed ahead to safety at the barracks door.

“Cheater,” Marco tried to sound disapproving when he caught up, but his pink cheeks betrayed him.

“You cheated first.”

“Tickling is well within the rules,” Marco informed him. “As is name-calling, roughhousing…”

“I think that counts as roughhousing,” Jean drawled. He turned to Connie, who was busy pretending he hadn’t seen everything that had happened. “Doesn’t that count as roughhousing?”

“What did I say about too much info,” Connie pointed at him.

“Ass-grabbing definitely counts,” Reiner piped in from behind them. “Works every time on Bertholdt.”

“Too much info!” Connie wailed, clapping a hand over his ears. Marco looked mildly uncomfortable, like he really didn’t want to be a part of this conversation anymore but couldn’t find a graceful way to escape.

Jean took pity on him. “What did you say about the new instructor?”

Marco looked surprised that Jean would actually, god forbid, help his friend out of a conversation for once. “She’s going to be ready by afternoon training,” he said, loud enough that the other boys in the barracks groaned. “After lunch, of course.”

This led to an epic bitchfest between Thomas, Connie and Mylius, with Reiner and Berthholdt both trying to play mediator. Which was a fancy way of saying they tried keeping the ruckus from tearing the roof down, because there would be hell to pay if Shadis came back to the barracks in ruins.

Jean escaped by taking a hold of Marco’s wrist and dragging them through the squabble out the back door. They settled in silence on the deck, sitting calmly under the cool fall sun. Jean glanced over at Marco’s profile.

He’d missed this, he really had. Marco was his best friend and having all that questioned and ripped to shreds had not been fun. Not that the air was entirely clear, but the worst of the tension had drained away now with his feelings out in the open. Their feelings.

 _Some_ feelings.

Marco caught him looking and stared at him in return, kind of like he wanted to say something.

And then Reiner apparently lost control of the commotion and out poured the other boys. It was easy to get caught up in Connie’s indignant curses, to forget things were different right up until lunch had ended and they were heading to meet their new instructor.

Whatever, it wasn’t like whoever this was could be worse than Shadis the drill sergeant.

 

\--

 

An hour and a half later, Jean regretted everything bad he’d said about Shadis ever.

Because honestly, Hanji Zoe really was _that bad_.

“You’re all so cute!” she gushed while sweat poured down their faces from half an hour straight of push-ups. “Oh, I’m so excited so see so many trainees! You should come visit us at base, we’ve got a _marvelous_ titan specimen—much better than those stupid wooden puppets!”

“Why would anyone _want_ to see a real titan?” Jean muttered to Sasha, who was clearly eating too many potatoes again. He’d feel worse about her pained groans if he didn’t remember her making a lewd gesture at him on the way to training. “Freaks, that’s who.”

“A _real_ titan?” Eren’s voice said, still managing to sound excited despite their shared agony. Which kind of proved Jean’s point.

“A very real, very beautiful titan!” Hanji said enthusiastically. “Five meters deviant class and _very_ smart for one its size. It’s lasting much longer than a normal one does—I always think practical demonstration is so much more fun than simulation, don’t you agree?”

“ _No_ ,” Jean said, before finally giving up and falling in a heap.

Hanji clucked and stalked towards him. “Thirty minutes more, Kirstein.” She prodded him with a foot—a gesture that looked teasing to an outsider but was clearly a warning to him. Her smile sharpened. “You might still be recovering from August’s stunt, but you still gotta work as hard as the rest of us, you hear?”

“What,” he said, startled, because how did she know _August_ had been the one to attack him?

Before he could gather enough energy to ask, she’d flounced away again. Jean reluctantly gathered himself on his hands and knees. Everything ached. Not only from the pushups but from yesterday too—and his continuing heat made achy joints a constant, annoying pain that had him gritting his teeth.

And somehow, her easy smile and cheer made everything so much worse.

It didn’t take a genius to see why a Survey Corporal had been called in to babysit; they produced the least results. Might as well get them to look after a bunch of kids while the real soldiers got together and tried to figure out a decent cover story?

Except Jean forgot that not producing results didn’t actually mean _weak_.

“Alright kids, enough,” Hanji finally called out. Jean was glad to hear several other moans of relief as they fell into a collective heap on the dirt. She waggled a finger at them before they could get too comfortable. “Hey, hey! That was just a _warm up_. Now who’s up for some 3D maneuvering gear training?"

Jean certainly wasn’t. He might be feeling much better than yesterday’s craziness, but he was still exhausted. Halfway up their hike into the forest, he stumbled over a pebble. A _pebble_.

For once in his life Marco was off holding conversation with Krista in front, and Jean had no choice but to fall on the person closest to him instead.

Which happened to be the Corporal.

“Kirstein, woah,” Hanji righted him with ease. “Sure you’re right enough to train?”

“How do you know what happened with August,” was the first thing that came out of his mouth, and Jean internally winced. This was a superior officer! He couldn’t just…

“How could I not?” Hanji actually grinned at him. “We’ve all been talking about it, kid. Oh, I could barely _believe_ Sebastian was able to come up with a vaccine prototype before us! Can I please get a sample from you? Just a tiny pinch! For science,” she made grabby hands at him, which was when Marco finally seemed to pick up Jean’s distressed scent and appeared right between them.

“Leave him alone, Hanji,” the freckled boy said, voice far colder than Jean had ever heard it. Jean side-eyed him incredulously. The heat was making him delirious, wasn’t it? Excepting Sergeant Adelaide, Marco _never_ talked badly towards a superior.

Hanji’s smile vanished. “I’d watch your tone, Bodt.”

“And I’d watch what you’re saying in front of civilians.”

“No one’s listening,” Hanji waved her hand at the crowd of trainees up ahead; Jean’s stumbling had slowed him—and by extension Hanji—down more than he’d thought. “Trust me, years spent in the Survey Corps and you get good at sensing these kind of things.”

“Even still—”

“We’re in the middle of a forest, and I don’t see any government spies around. _Relax_.” Hanji glanced at Jean, who was dragging along embarrassingly slow. He’d probably feel better in the air, but right now walking up an incline was like hell itself. “You don’t walk to talk with this guy over here listening? Kirstein should have been in on it from the beginning—it’s probably better to catch him up sooner than later.”

“Yeah, Marco,” Jean muttered, trying not to wheeze. “Catch me up.”

Marco’s lips thinned. He stepped even closer to Jean, silently offering himself up as a crutch that Jean gratefully took, dignity be damned. The freckled boy turned to Hanji. “With all due respect, you don’t fully understand the situation.”

“We understand enough,” Hanji said. “And just for that, you’re getting an hour of stable-duty. No—two hours! For that mess you made yesterday.”

“That was under Janus’s orders!”

“Marco—” Jean said, but was quickly overridden by their superior: “Ah, but we need to keep everything believable don’t we?”

Marco wrinkled his brow in annoyance but didn’t argue back. Instead, he focused on ahead: “How long until we get there?”

“Don’t ignore me,” Jean hissed, but Marco was saved from answering when they finally approached their destination. The woman turned her attention back towards the road.

“Alright, we’re here!” she announced, and ran to the front without a second glance back. Jean felt Marco relax minutely against him.

“She’s a Naturalist?” Jean asked, because that was the least Marco could offer him

Marco sighed and shot an anchor out, swinging away without answering. Jean barely resisted the urge to hiss at him.

Well fine. That was a yes.

 

\--

 

Like always, gliding in the air allowed him peace. His heat was even working with him for once: his enhanced sense of smell and a heightened awareness of his surroundings danger had him swooping far more deftly through the trees. If he relaxed, he could almost pretend there wasn’t some indescribable woman shouting at them from below. Everything was going well. Really.

Until he swung right into Eren while going in for a landing and crashed them both into a tree.

“Jean!” Eren scowled from the ground. He looked a little flushed, his skin a tad too hot, but Jean was too busy trying not to get an eye poked out to question it. “God, I know you’re all out of it ‘cause you and Marco finally got together, but can you please leave the rest of us alone?”

“What? No. _What_?” Jean scrambled off of him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You,” Eren said, “and Marco. Together.”

He pulled back his wires and sheathed his blades. Jean gaped at him.

“We’re not together,” Jean managed to force out of his mouth. He wasn’t going to explain their whole complicated mess of a relationship to _Eren,_ of all people. “We’re—look, he was just helping me out.”

“You’re kidding,” Eren said. He wiped his brow. “We’re not idiots. You both look like you’ve been mauled, and he _reeks_ of you, and not in a friendly-sex way. In a serious, back-off-from-my-mate kind of way.”

Jean flushed and deflected. Badly. “It’s—it’s none of your fucking business, Jaeger. And stay out of my way next time.”

“You’re the one that crashed into me!” Eren shouted after him as Jean threw out his anchors and flew back up into the trees.

He avoided Eren the rest of the afternoon and forced conversation with everyone else away from his heat or Marco or bandits as much as possible. But it didn’t stop him from thinking about it: sure, the two of them had come to a mutual agreement to not work things out for now, but it didn’t stop others from speculating. What was their angle in presenting this? Did they even need an angle?

Marco was off paying his due in the stables, so Jean had plenty of time to work himself up before confronting him.

“Did you know they think we’re together?” Jean asked Marco during dinner. He’d resumed his rightful place across from Marco in the cafeteria and was stabbing at his stew. He didn’t want to eat it. “Eren says you _smell like me_ , and because of that we’re suddenly true mates. Since you were just—just helping me out, we’re not… an item.”

Marco didn’t say anything. He bit into his toast and got crumbs on the tip of his nose.

“Are we?” Jean blurted out, watching the brunet wipe his face.

Marco dropped his toast. “What?”

“Together,” Jean repeated. “Are we… together?”

“Us?” Marco said, voice strangled. “I mean—didn’t we agree…? It’s complicated. You know it is, we talked about this earlier. We’re friends.”

“We’re not _friends_ , Marco,” Jean shook his spoon at him. “Not even Eren believes that! Unless you're planning to canoodle with another omega, you can at least admit we're together."

Marco looked kind of hunted, which meant he was about to clam up. Bastard.

"I'm not planning to do that," the boy finally admitted, which Jean realized was the most he was getting out of him for now.

After a beat spent gathering himself so he didn’t go berserk and pummel the other boy with his bowl, Jean forced himself to let it go, “Okay. Fine. Great. By the way, it looks like that suppressant craze is out of my system. Don't have to have a moral crisis tonight, lucky you. I'll be fine on my own.”

Marco opened his mouth like he was going to protest, but then closed it. Marco wasn't completely stupid, “Okay.”

“I’m probably going to knock myself out real fast anyway,” Jean continued casually, even if every fiber of his omega-sense was screaming at him to _take it back and shut up_. But no, they should be in agreement on this. Agreements meant nothing if they weren’t willing to enforce them. “Just—it’s easier if we don’t—”

“I said it's _okay,”_ Marco said. After an awkward pause, the freckled boy picked up his toast and Jean pushed away his stew for good, and life went stubbornly and excruciatingly on.

After dinner, Marco excused himself to hang out with Nack and Mylius. Jean was feeling warmer despite the cool night air, and his omega-sense crawled under the surface of his skin like a bad itch—but he was otherwise sane. That still didn’t stop him from flashing some teeth at Mylius when the boy stared at him for a beat too long. Mylius flinched and took a step back. Good. Jean had to turn heel to prevent himself from letting his omega-sense do something even more ridiculous, like claw out his eyes or, you know, disembowel him.

He should probably stay away from Mylius. And any of Marco’s other exes and maybe-alphas, just to be on the safe side.

He decided instead to track down the notes he needed from that morning’s lessons, which was easier said than done.

“Is this from dinner?” Sasha asked afterwards as she watched him copy down her notes. She plopped down beside Jean on the bench and began chewing on her new loaf of bread, courtesy of one Jean Kirstein. “We saw you yelling at Marco and wanted to give you guys some space, but you didn’t eat anything. Is it because of your heat? Must suck to only have your butt.”

“There was no yelling,” Jean said, distracted. He didn’t even bother addressing anything regarding his heat. “We don’t need space.”

“But you’re finally back together! We didn’t want to… interrupt.”

Jean wanted to stab her hand. “There is no 'back together.' There is barely a 'together.'”

“Really?” Sasha raised an eyebrow. “So you wouldn’t mind if I did… this?”

Before Jean could react, she leaned over and licked a wet stripe up his cheek. Jean shouted and wiped her spit away with a hand. “Sasha, what the hell!”

“You taste like Marco.”

“You lick him enough to know what he tastes like?” Jean grabbed onto Sasha’s sleeve and forcefully dried his hand on it. Sasha tried to wriggle away, but he was stronger. “What are you trying to do, anyway?”

“He’s right,” Connie, who’d been tossing a rubber ball against a post, piped up, “You should try licking Marco, see how Jean reacts.”

“No one is licking Marco,” Jean said sharply, and the two exchanged twin looks of triumph. He wanted to put his head in his hands, but that would be admitting defeat. “Can we please talk about something other than me?”

“You’re in heat and stuck in a camp full of unpresented trainees,” Connie informed him. “You’re pretty much asking for everyone to be talking about you.”

“They already are,” Sasha added, sounding gleeful. “Everyone knows there was something about an accident and a sergeant passed out—” Oh god “—and then Marco helped you with your heat which was a _long_ time coming, we’ve been waiting on it since your spat a week ago. And then the rumor mill started up again, like Eren being sick and you getting pregnant and did you know there’s a rumor that Connie’s an omega? Can you believe that?”

“Hey, I might be!” Connie puffed his chest out. “Don’t write me off just yet!”

“Why, is it because he’s so short?” Jean said, and Connie looked betrayed.

“I think it’s because of his big eyes,” Sasha faux-whispered, “So beautiful and seductive.” She used his fingers to stretch her eyes open and Connie smacked her hand. Sasha laughed and wound her arms around his shoulders. “I’m just kidding around. Who knows, maybe you’ll end up being a big strong alpha, Connie. Prove them all wrong.”

“I don’t want to be an alpha,” Connie sulked. “Being an omega seems like less work.”

Jean disagreed, but no amount of butt-talk could properly convey the pains of maintaining a male omega’s reproductive system.

Instead, he listened to all this feeling… strange. It wasn’t too long ago that he’d been in their shoes, musing about what he was going to become. When life was simple enough that presenting was a big deal, not government conspiracies and pissy, irrational not-mates.

“We are glad you’re okay though, Jean,” Sasha said suddenly, breaking Jean out of his reverie. “Marco was kind of going crazy yesterday and then the bandits escaped and we came back early. But I’m happy everything worked out. ”

“Uh,” Jean said, caught off-guard. “Thanks?”

“Also your fighting with Marco was really uncomfortable,” Connie added. “Please don’t do it again.”

“Tell _him_ that,” Jean grumbled, but went back to his note taking feeling bizarrely lighter. It felt good to know other people cared. Even if he didn’t like admitting it.

So when Connie accidentally threw the rubber ball too hard and had it land onto the notes, spilling them every which way, Jean didn’t shout as loud as he could have. He chased the shorter boy around the room and almost tripped over Annie, whose glare could’ve frozen a furnace. Sasha, being a girl and the only possible defense they had, was no help at all, too busy laughing her ass off at everything.

It was ridiculous. It was great. For once in what felt like an eternity, Jean actually felt like things were going back to normal.

 

\--

 

But then night came, and reality reminded him of how cruel his body could be.

God, he just wanted to get this over with. The isolation room was cold. The sheets smelled funny. The bed under him wasn’t comfortable at all, not even a little.

He hated this place.

Horny and sulky, Jean rolled over and wrapped a hand around his half-hard dick. He jerked himself with ruthless efficiency while breathing into the blanket Marco had brought him yesterday. The blanket smelled most like home. Closing his eyes while quickening his strokes, he could almost pretend he was back in their bunk.

It didn’t take long to come, even if the whole experience was less than mediocre. Mediocre enough it didn’t actually help his discomfort. He still felt on edge, too-warm, and if his body was looking for someone to fill him up again it was going to be sorely disappointed.

Jean wanted to _sleep._ He gripped his over-sensitive dick with a determined grimace.

Jacking off again went even worse than the first time; his body kept demanding he slip a finger behind him, please, just one, but Jean resolutely refused it. When it was clear that tugging his dick wasn’t working, Jean growled and buried his face into the pillow. Goddammit all.

He couldn’t help but think how easy it would be to fall asleep in the barracks, sprawled next to Marco and prodding the boy whenever he let out a soft snort in the night. Feeling secure amongst the scents and sounds of a dozen other boys below and beside him; amongst his pack.

Jean wanted to go back to his bunk.

He wanted to go back to his bunk _right now,_ because it wasn’t like he needed the extra privacy when he just wanted to sleep.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Jean sat up and pulled the blanket around himself. Slipping on his shoes, he stumbled to the door and walked out into the cold night.

The collective breaths of dozens of sleeping boys warmed the barracks nicely. Jean stepped in as quietly as he could and padded his way past the other bunks. Thomas scratched his stomach when Jean passed, and he could have sworn there was some shuffling coming from Reiner and Bertholdt’s bunk, but so far no one had bolted up screaming about omegas in heat. Good.

When he made it to the ladder of his own bunk, however, he knew something was immediately wrong. Marco’s cot was empty.

His gaze flickered reflexively to Eren and Armin’s bunk across from them.

Eren wasn’t in his bunk either.

Anger flared in his chest. Of course he knew Marco wasn’t about to go gallivanting about with Eren, but his animal brain didn’t know that. His animal brain just saw _competition._

Swallowing the bitterness in his mouth, he ascended the ladder and couldn’t even muster up guilt when the end of his blanket dragged up Daz’s face on the lower bunk and caused him to sneeze. Jean just wanted to sleep and forget about all of this. Deal with it in the morning. He made it to the top and finally got a good view of his own cot.

Jean froze.

Marco was sleeping in his cot.

Not “accidentally sprawled onto Jean’s side because he wasn’t here” or even “pulled their cots together to be one giant cot.” He had obviously and intentionally chosen to sleep there tonight. It was in the way he curled relaxed in Jean’s space, pillow under his stupid freckled head and blankets secure over his stupid freckled body. Jean felt all his jealousy bleed out through his toes.

He shuffled closer to Marco. The other boy twitched.

“Marco,” Jean whispered, leaning down so his friend could hear better. “ _Marco_.”

“Hm?” the brunet’s nose scrunched up, but otherwise he didn’t move.

Jean prodded him and was gratified to see Marco’s brown eyes fluttering open. The other boy frowned slowly and blinked up at him.

“…Jean?”

“What are you doing in my bed?”

Marco’s eyes snapped open at that. They stared at each other. Jean watched, fascinated, as the other boy’s face bloomed tomato red, obvious even in the dark with his cheeks partway obscured by the pillow. He opened his mouth and closed it.

“You know what, I don’t care,” Jean said when Marco couldn’t seem to gather the words to respond. He nudged the boy’s side with a hand. “Move over.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Marco finally rasped, lifting the covers. Jean shed his blankets and ducked under Marco’s, before realizing how tiny these cots were. Marco let out a tiny wheeze when Jean elbowed his stomach trying to fit under the sheets; he ended up climbing half on top of the freckled boy and laying his head on his shoulder. He faced away from Marco, but that didn’t stop Marco from turning his head and brushing Jean’s head with his cheek. “ _Jean.”_

“Took care of my business already,” Jean shrugged, refusing to look at the other boy. Marco’s chest rose and fell under him. Despite the shock of finding Jean here, the heartbeat pressed against Jean’s collarbone remained steady. “Couldn’t sleep, so I came back here.”

“This isn’t a good idea.” Marco’s body disagreed. Jean tugged the blanket tighter around him. “You need to go.”

“Why? You gonna take advantage?”

Marco must be really tired, because he didn’t even freak out at Jean’s flirting. He just relaxed further, and Jean wondered if his own scent had an effect on the freckled boy. Of course it did: imprinting one-oh-one. Why else would Marco sleep in his bed, where Jean’s scent sank so deep into the fabric they’d have to set it on fire to burn it out?

God, if only Marco was like this all the time and not off being _stupid_ like the Wall Gods themselves were watching his every move.

“I could have come and helped you,” Marco murmured eventually, proving Jean's point. It took Jean a moment to realize the boy was continuing their previous conversation, despite the awkward gap in-between where he’d fallen asleep. “You just had to say.”

Which was all kinds of ridiculous, but Jean was too tired to fight. Figuratively and literally. Underneath his weight, Marco’s chest rose and fell with a slow sigh. He was so warm and soft. Safe. When he gave in to look up at Marco, he saw the boy’s eyes drooping closed.

Jean realized what a good place he’d found himself in. It was such a vulnerable position to have someone pressed above, vital regions exposed so defenselessly. His gaze flickered to Marco’s neck.

“Jean…” Marco’s voice distracted him.

  
“Yeah?”

The boy suddenly laced his hands over the back of Jean’s neck, sleepy and slow and careful. Jean shivered as he ran it down his spine and rested it in the dip of his lower back. He glanced up into soft brown eyes. Marco yawned and then leaned in to whisper: “Don’t snore.”

“You’re the one in _my_ bed!” Jean hissed indignantly, but the freckled boy had already drifted back to sleep. He looked so ridiculous with his mouth hanging open. Jean’s frustration dissipated. It really was warm pressed skin-to-skin like this, and the small reminders of Marco around him—his ankle, his back, where Marco’s nose pressed against his temple—had Jean melting inside. This was a million times better than sleeping alone in the isolation room. Feeling his own face flush, Jean rested back down against Marco’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

Sleep came as easy as the tide.

 

\--

 

Sebastian Greigrich sat brooding in the dark inside of a wagon, as immovable as a marble statue despite the rocking and shaking of the vehicle around him. Across from him, looking petulant, sat a stout man with a salt-and-pepper beard that hid half his face.

“Look, I didn’t know they were going to escape,” the stout man whined, wringing his hands. “And we caught some of them, so it’s not—”

“The idiots,” Greigrich said. The stout man resisted the urge to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Greigrich would've normally taken his pipe out and began smoking by now. The fact that he remained still, no pipe in sight, was a very bad sign. “You caught the idiots, but not any of the ones I want. August Linden, for instance.”

“The kid? He’s young—I don’t think he knows much about anything. Now Victor…”

“...is an _idiot_ , aren’t you listening? And the Linden family is very important, Jacob. Don’t forget.” Greigrich finally moved, turning his head so he was looking down at Jacob Tchuberg with a cool, impenetrable expression. “You don’t want to end up like Frederick, do you?”

Jacob Tchuberg decided to hell with it and wiped his brow. His sleeve came back damp. “W-We caught that mate of his, didn’t we? Merten. I’m sure August’ll come back for him, and if we can catch him then…”

“Or we can lose the both of them, and we’re right back where we started. We _need_ August in our hands. Anything to squeeze the Lindens and their contact from the inside out. Unless you want to explain to Reiss exactly how close the Naturalists are to exposing him and his own.”

Tchuberg paled, “Sebastian…”

“You will contact some of your men in the training camps,” Greigrich continued, voice making no room for protest. “August was quite attached to that friend of his. The one that’s gotten close to Kirstein’s boy. Marco?”

“Last I heard, he was in trouble with the Naturalists,” Tchuberg said. “For taking down several of his own teammates during that suppressant-poisoning fiasco.”

“Doesn’t mean August won’t contact him. It isn’t easy to leave Jinae, even with the military allowance in place. Word has it the Lindens pressed the right points to get Marco out—he’s bound to owe them a favor, even if he isn’t… personally involved. I want an eye on him. Both for Jean’s sake and in case August resurfaces to meet his old friend.”

Jacob Tchuberg sniffed and clutched at his jacket. He didn’t really like the man in the green jacket, not in any of the years they’d worked together. Frederick was the one that usually dealt with him—at least, until his strategic death a few years ago.

It wasn’t an empty threat when Greigrich suggested that Tchuberg might be next.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in my notes this chapter's kind of the start of "part two" of the conspiarcy/plot. Also potential spoilers for the manga in future (not for a few chapters) so a head's up. urgggh


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m going to kill Jaeger once we find him,” Jean swore, kicking the ground. “What do you guys expect me to do? Lift my nose and smell? I smell dirt. And more dirt. Trees. Cinnamon—that’s you,” he pointed at Marco, who looked surprised that he was an actual cinnamon bun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the late update! I've been fixing some plot holes and rewriting sections to make everything flow better-- this chapter involved a LOT more rewriting than I'd predicted. This mostly a plot-related chapter-- warnings for some violence, some uncomfortable situations where characters freak, and, uh. Fluid licking??? asdlkfjds

13.

 

Jean woke up at five-thirty in the morning to the sound of Armin hissing, “Marco! Marco, wake up!”

“What?” Jean lifted his head up from Marco’s neck and turned around to glare at the intruder with the power of a disgruntled teenager. The blond gaped unabashed from the ladder.

“Jean? What are you doing here?”

“This is my bed.”

“No, I meant… you know what, never mind,” Armin shook his head. He crawled up the rest of the ladder and onto Marco’s cot. “Eren’s missing.”

“How's that our problem? Go away, Armin,” Jean plopped his head back down and shut his eyes. Marco murmured beside him and nuzzled into his shoulder, still asleep. “He’s probably gone off to sulk or—or rage about titans, or whatever he does in his free time.”

“I’m being serious,” Armin said. “Eren went to train with Nack last night, except Nack said he never showed up. And then Eren didn’t come back to the barracks and now he’s _missing_.”

“Maybe he ran away to get away from you,” Jean muttered sleepily, which was when Marco chose to stir awake.

“What’s happening?” The brunet mumbled against Jean’s skin. He lifted his head and blinked at both of them with his hair sticking every which way. “Eren’s gone?”

Armin wrung his hands. “He wasn’t feeling well the last time I saw him, and now this. What if something’s happened, Marco? I was going to wake you up to get Jean, but since he’s already here…”

“We going?” Marco asked the omega. Jean glared at him.

He glared even harder when Armin added, “You _do_ owe me.”

Jean growled but sat up, “What makes you think I can find him better than you, anyway? You’re the one attached to his hip.”

“You have the best sense of smell out of the omegas,” Armin informed him, and okay, that was both flattering and kind of creepy. “Also, you’re in heat. If Eren’s on camp grounds, I’m sure you can scent him out.”

“I’m not a dog!” Jean hissed, but Armin was already climbing down the ladder.

“Better than a horse?” Marco laughed, and Jean swatted him. Asshole. Marco just ran a hand down the back of Jean’s neck, and dammit Jean needed to build up a tolerance for how that made him flush warm with pleasure.

It would explain how he found himself wandering irritably about camp in the dim morning sun. He could be snuggled up to Marco in their bunk right now, which would have been the _perfect opportunity—_ but no.

No, Eren just had to make it his life goal to dash all of Jean's hopes and dreams.

“I’m going to kill Jaeger once we find him,” Jean swore, kicking the ground. “What do you guys expect me to do? Lift my nose and smell? I smell dirt. And more dirt. Trees. Cinnamon—that’s you,” he pointed at Marco, who looked surprised that he was an actual cinnamon bun.

“No, I don’t expect you to just… sniff,” Armin said. "I’ve checked the rest of the boy’s barracks and Mikasa’s checked the girl’s, and we’ve both looked in all the common areas. The training grounds are empty. Eren normally comes to either one of us if there’s a problem, which is why this is so weird. We thought maybe your omega perspective could help, too?"

Jean reined back the urge to snap _omega perspective?_ and closed his eyes in thought. Eren felt sick. Sick omegas acted on instinct because instinct was a sneaky son of a bitch. Except Eren hadn’t gone to either Armin or Mikasa, which meant he was either having some twisted fun at everyone’s expense or he was so sick he’d gone off the other end and scared himself into isolation.

Isolation.

“The isolation room,” Jean finally said, opening his eyes. “Have you checked the isolation room Eren used his last heat?”

“No,” Armin frowned. “The one Eren used is on the other side of the barracks…”

“And neither you nor Mikasa have the nose to smell him out, right? Come on,” Jean sighed, turning around trekking back to where he knew the room was. “I’m going to _kick his ass_.”

Jean knew he was right minutes before they arrived. Eren’s scent hovered over the building like a thick fog, warding away unfamiliar intruders and sending a plea to his pack for help. Jean’s higher brain might’ve wanted to strangle the boy hiding inside, but his omega-sense just wanted to make sure he was alright.

Armin tried the door and found it locked. “The door…”

“Check the windows,” Jean suggested. He gestured for Armin and Marco to check the east-facing side while he checked the west. It took only seconds for Armin to let out a cry of alarm.

“What?” Jean hurried over. Armin was peering through the jagged opening of a smashed window, blood staining the glass on the bottom.

“Eren?” Armin shouted frantically. He looked moments away from leaping through the window of death himself. “Eren, are you alright?”

“For god’s sake,” Jean stalked up to the window himself and pushed the blond a safer distance away. Eren was crouched beside the cot on the side facing away from the window, nothing but a mop of hair from this angle. “Eren! What the hell are you doing?”

“Go _away_ ,” the boy growled.

“Ha, ha, no. Come out.”

“Go away, go _away_ —”

“There’s fucking blood on this window, Jaeger. If you don’t come out, I’m going to break the door down.”

“ _GO AWAY_!” Eren snarled, and when he finally turned to look at Jean his eyes glowed omega-gold in the dark. “Leave me alone! I’m not going back there! _Leave me alone!_ ”

Jean barely kept from staggering back. The last time Eren had let his pheromones loose like this was when he’d been in heat, and even then it hadn’t felt so… sickening. Wrong.

“Marco,” Jean called out, and the brunet obediently followed him back to the front of the building.

“What’s wrong with him?” Marco whispered as Jean eyed the locked door. “He can’t be in heat, can he?”

“Instinct-wise, he’s as good as,” Jean said conversationally. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was suppressant.”

Which was when Jean gestured at the speechless Marco, and together they kicked the wooden door in at the same time.

Shadis was probably going to scream at them about property damage once he returned, but Jean thought having to rescue Eren from his own hissy-fit put the blame squarely on the other omega’s shoulders.

The cabin reeked. If outside had been a fog of distress, inside was a giant red flag of _help-me-get-out-there’s-something-very-very-wrong_. Eren tensed upon seeing them, curling himself even tighter into the corner.

“No!” the other omega scrambled back against the wall. He bared his teeth. “Don’t come any closer!”

Marco took another step forward, and Eren’s distress racketed up by a thousand.

“Marco, get back,” Jean snapped. He didn’t mean to sound angry, but Eren’s distress was affecting more than he thought. “Tell Armin to stay out too.”

Marco raised a hand and backed away. “Are you sure? What if…” 

…Eren gouged Jean’s eyes out and went into a true omega frenzy? Jean could take him. He edged closer to the other boy and felt relieved when Eren didn’t lash out defensively.

“Leave me alone, Kirstein,” he hissed when Jean crouched down to his level. His golden eyes hadn’t dimmed in the slightest, which was more than worrying. Omega-gold was meant to be flashed for a moment, not held for a long period of time. “Why won’t you _go away_?”

“Because you need to see a doctor,” Jean said, not bothering to be gentle as he yanked Eren up onto his feet. The boy lashed out then, twisting and turning in Jean’s hold and biting any skin he could reach. Jean snarled and smacked Eren back, which only incensed him further. The boy clawed at him like a devil unleashed, kicking and flailing and punching Jean in the chest.

“Eren!” Jean barked out, using the other omega’s disorientation to grab his arms and pin them behind his back. “Eren, what the fuck!”

“I don’t want to go,” Eren sobbed, twisting his head this way and that. “I don’t want to go, don’t make me.”

“So you can what? Stay here and combust from pheromone overload?” Anger roiled under Jean’s skin. “There’s definitely something wrong with you, and we can only figure out _what_ at the infirmary.”

“No!” Eren flailed, “No, no, _no!_ ”

Jean just unrepentantly dragged the struggling boy towards the door, where Marco almost vibrating with the urge to intervene. Except Eren, that stubborn asshole, still hadn’t given up. He launched himself at Jean’s shoulder and chomped down on him like he was going to eat him, hard enough to draw blood.

“Ow! Goddammit, Eren!” Jean grabbed his shirt and shook him like a ragdoll. “Can you not act batshit insane for _five minutes_ so we can go to the doctors and—mmph!”

The kiss was brutal. Savage. Eren kissed like he was trying to eat Jean alive. It was all teeth and tongue and his fingers like daggers digging into his arms. When Jean tried to kick Eren off, the boy bit him hard on the lip. Blood flooded his mouth and then—

Jean grabbed Eren’s nape. The boy howled angrily and broke away, but Jean was so pissed off he didn’t care anymore. Even when Eren collapsed onto his knees and refused to move, and Jean dragged him bodily to the door.

“Jean!” Marco looked alarmed. “Jean, be careful—”

“The little shit deserves what he gets,” Jean snarled. He threw Eren across the threshold and scowled when the boy just slumped limply to the ground. “There’s something definitely wrong with him. Now Marco, you’re not poisoning our friends, are you?”

“Of course not,” Marco looked almost hurt at Jean’s accusation. Jean narrowed his eyes, because the guy deserved every bit of suspicion thrown at him. “And this doesn’t—this doesn’t look like a reaction to suppressant.”

“But?” Jean said flatly.

Marco blinked rapidly, and Jean could tell the moment Marco decided whether or not to lie. Before the boy could make up his mind, God forbid, Armin cut in.

“Marco, can you help me?” the blond pushed Jean away and hauled Eren into his lap. “We need to get him to the doctor right away.”

“No!” Eren flailed in one last attempt to escape, and Marco frowned considerately at him.

“We’ll come along,” he finally said, and Jean curled his lip.

“ _I’m_ not going anywhere with you guys.”

“You’re coming with us,” Marco said with finality, and Jean glowered at him. Adrenaline pumped through his veins; he felt alive, ready to strike, on edge. If anyone else but Marco had tried using that tone with him, Jean would have snapped. Thankfully for everyone involved, instead of bloody carnage and both a crazy Eren and Jean wreaking havoc on camp, there was just Marco staring Jean down while Armin held Eren awkwardly.

In the end, Armin was the one that broke the silence: “You probably need stitches for your lip, Jean.”

“What?” Jean startled and immediately ran a finger across Eren’s stupid bite. Did that psycho _bite through his lip?_

“No,” Eren whined again, and Jean couldn’t help the shock of jealousy that ran through him when Marco placed a reassuring hand on the omega’s arm.

“Eren, I promise you,” the brunet whispered. “I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you. Can you trust me?”

Eren frowned and looked at Armin, who was giving Marco an _Ah-my-genius-intellect-is-sensing-secrets!_ expression. Finally, the blond nodded, and Eren reluctantly and with a defeated air let the two haul his arms over their shoulders.

“Marco,” Jean hissed in a warning tone, and couldn’t help feeling affronted when Marco turned and jerked his chin in Armin’s direction.

 _Later_ , the boy mouthed.

Which in Jean’s book meant never. He should’ve known better than to think Marco’s gotten past keeping secrets from him; it had been only a day, after all, and Marco’s been a secret-keeping liar for a year and a half.

He frowned, tamping down his hurt, and reluctantly trailed after the trio before him all the way to the infirmary.

 

\--

 

“False heat? You think it’s a false heat?” Mikasa was going guns blazing against the poor orderly assigned to the boy. “Eren had his heat last month!”

“Yes. I believe Eren’s cycle has been… irreversibly affected by suppressant,” Harold the orderly was a brave, brave soul for standing against Mikasa on an Eren-protecting rampage. “It’s been a miracle it hasn’t manifested until now.”

“Nothing about this is a miracle!” Mikasa hissed at him.

“What are you guys doing?” Jean scowled, stepping into the room. His new stitches hurt like a bitch while he talked, but Jean liked talking too much to stop. Mikasa rounded on him in righteous fury, but for once Jean wasn’t in the mood to play simpering omega to her cool alpha. “What’s this about a false heat?”

“It’s when the body’s heats become erratic, usually due to suppressant,” Harold tried explaining again—and Jean couldn’t help but glance over at where Marco was standing against the wall. The boy was narrowing his eyes at Harold, his entire posture tense—and he only got tenser as the alpha moved closer to Jean.

“Well, can you stop talking about it?” Jean snapped. “You’re freaking Eren out.”

It was true. They may have given Eren something to knock him out, but it hadn’t done anything to stop the frankly nauseating amount of distress pheromones being pumped into the room. Being the only presented trainee and a fellow omega, Jean was forced to put up with it.

An alpha like Harold, however, should know better.

“He’s confused,” Harold raised his voice. “There are too many people in this room—if you can all clear out…”

“And leave him with some alpha he barely knows?” Mikasa said.

“I can’t treat his false heat with so many distractions.”

“You—”

“Training starts in a few minutes,” Marco finally spoke up. He put his hands on Mikasa’s and Armin’s shoulders and gave Harold a bland smile. “Sorry for being in the way, Harold. Eren’s our friend.”

Neither of Eren’s friends did anything but gawk, most likely because Marco’s grip on their shoulder was iron-tight. Harold, as most alphas did, seemed to relax at getting his way. Jean cast one last worried glance at the orderly bustling around the still-unconscious Eren, but allowed Marco to herd him and the others out.

“ _What do you think you’re doing_?” Mikasa growled the moment they made it outside. She shoved him viciously against the cabin wall. “Eren’s alone and unprotected—”

“Eren was targeted,” Marco told her in a deceptively calm voice. The calmer Marco seemed before he cracked, the angrier he was. “We need to find out why.”

“We?” At least Armin could still focus on the important bits.

“Corporal Hanji and I,” Marco elaborated. “Armin, you told Mikasa we’re Naturalists, right? We got intel that the government facet in charge of suppressants—the Equalizers—were conducting sweeps through the camps. We’re not sure how they’re doing it, but they’re exposing trainees to… some kind of chemical, and the ones that react are their target.”

Mikasa narrowed her eyes at him, clearly wary of Marco’s explanation.

“But why only Eren?” Jean spoke up. He glanced at the others. “If it’s because he’s an omega, there are plenty of unaffected omegas. If it’s because he’s from Maria, than you guys should be showing symptoms too. What makes Eren so special?" 

“We don’t know,” Marco said, almost irritably. He brushed Mikasa’s hand away and straightened his collar. “That’s what I’m going to find out.”

Mikasa bared her teeth. “By leaving Eren alone with that—that _alpha_ , is that it?”

“Eren’s already affected,” Marco said. “I’ve known that Harold’s been working with Greigrich’s team for a while. We need to see what he does with Eren.”

“No,” Mikasa growled. “We’re not using Eren as _bait_. Get him out _now_.”

“He’s my friend too!” Marco snarled back, and God, the air was _crackling_ with tension. Jean put a hand on Marco’s shoulder, because seriously, this was the worst place to get into a brawl. Especially when they were already late for training. “But Eren’s the first; any more victims show up, they’re less likely to conduct the same tests as they would on Eren. I promised him I wouldn’t let them hurt him and I meant it.”

“You—” and no one was more surprised than Mikasa when Armin yanked her back. Not that she was going to _hit_ Marco, but she’d clearly been planning something aggressive.

“Marco’s right,” the blond told his friend. “If they were going to kill the targets, Eren would already be dead. We just need to figure out what they want with him before anything permanent happens.”

Mikasa’s lips thinned into a line. The two brunets stared each other down; surprisingly, Mikasa bowed out first. “Fine. I don’t like it, but I trust Armin’s judgement. But Marco. If anything happens to Eren… I _will_ destroy you.”

She turned heel and stalked towards the training grounds, Armin hurrying after her. Jean didn’t remove his hand, and instead focused on Marco’s face.

He knew that expression.

“What are you keeping back this time, Bodt?” he said.

Marco startled. “What?”

“If it's just test results you needed, you could've promised them to get Eren out in a few hours,” Jean said. “Unless you want Eren to be whisked away…”

And then Jean remembered one of the first things Marco said: _Eren was targeted. We need to find out why._

“You’re _not,”_ Jean hissed, and Marco sighed. “Marco!”

“This is serious, Jean,” Marco snapped. “The government wouldn’t move like this unless something big was happening—if there’s a chance the Naturalists can get to the bottom of the suppressant issue—”

“You’ll what? You’ll sacrifice Eren?” Jean looked at him in horror. “He’s your _friend_!”

“And Hanji and her team have a plan of getting him back once he’s moved. But we need to see where they move him—everything would be pointless otherwise.”

Jean shook his head and turned away. Tried to calm himself down. He felt sick to his stomach, because Marco purposely omitting this detail to Mikasa and Armin? That was cold. It was the kind of executive decision Jean _hated_ , because if you couldn’t be truthful to your allies than how the hell could you expect them to follow your lead? 

He almost regretted wanting Marco to tell him more, because telling him shifted some of the choice onto Jean’s shoulders.

“So what are you going to do now?” he finally said in a tight voice. “You coming to training?”

Marco sighed, clearly aware of the deep shit he was in. “No. I’ve got one last thing to do.”

“Well don’t start telling me secrets now,” Jean snapped, and was surprised when Marco actually reached into his pocket and took out a box of vials.

“When they move Eren, they’ll likely sedate him,” the boy said. “The one they’re using is a long-term sleeping agent. This one, however, only puts someone to sleep for thirty minutes. They look and smell almost identical. Jean…”

Marco wilted, like a puppy that had been kicked. “I wasn’t lying. We _are_ planning to get Eren back. Trust me.”

Jean tilted his head back and closed his eyes. God, he was an asshole. Marco was too, but Jean had accepted that fact sometime after Marco punched him for sticking his nose into the Naturalist’s business. Jean just never expected himself to be _this kind_ of asshole.

“You need a distraction?” Jean said.

Marco opened his mouth: “No.”

“Liar.”

“This is my..." 

“What’s Harold gonna do?” Jean waved a hand. “You say he’s on Greigrich’s side; Greigrich clearly doesn’t want me dead. _You_ , on the other hand, put yourself in the spotlight with that stunt at Karanese.”

Marco's final protest was pathetic and they both knew it: “You’re—you’re in heat…” 

“ _So?”_ Jean narrowed his eyes at him. “If you’re going to keep going with these goddamn suicide missions, I’m going to go along with you. Deal with it. Now what’s the plan?”

 

\--

 

“How are you going to treat this false heat?” Jean asked without preamble from where he was leaning against the doorway. Harold, who’d been drawing blood from Eren’s arm, flinched but managed to not break the syringe. “Can you at least tell us that?” 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” the orderly said crossly, setting aside the blood sample and snapping off his gloves. “I told you all before, too many scents can exacerbate Mr. Jaeger’s condition…”

“Sorry,” and god, Jean hated playing off omega stereotypes. “But it’s hard with my heat, you know. Keep wanting to make sure he’s alright.”

Harold’s glare smoothed a fraction. “Well he’s fine, trust me. If that’s all?”

“But what are you doing with that blood?”

“Testing it for increased hormones,” Harold said. The tetchiness was back. “I can’t explain it, it’ll just go over your head. While Corporal Hanji is relatively lenient, I doubt she’ll be happy with your tardiness.”

From the corner of Jean’s eye, he saw Marco slipping out of the medicine-room next door. Jean gave the orderly a wry smile and apologized before making his escape.

“Wasn’t that a lot less risky,” Jean told Marco conversationally as they strolled towards the training grounds. “Everything went alright?”

Marco frowned. “It did, but there were far less vials than I’d expected. We thought they were looking for a whole group of people, but there were only ten vials in that cabinet…”

“Ten seems like plenty to me,” Jean muttered, and almost crashed into Marco’s back when the boy suddenly stopped.

Jean spotted them the same time Marco did. It was Mikasa again, and Jean should’ve known she’d take the first opportunity to rush back to the infirmary and check up on her precious Eren.

What surprised him, and Marco too, was the boy she was holding up.

“I’m fine,” Bertholdt wheezed, looking sweatier and paler than normal. “I didn’t get enough sleep last night, and the sun’s pretty hot today…”

“You don’t look like you missed sleep, man,” Jean informed him once they came into conversational range. “You look like you got run over by a wagon.”

“I do _not_ ,” Bertholdt said faintly—right before he lurched forward and vomited onto the ground.

“Infirmary,” Mikasa said, blank-faced despite the regurgitated stew covering her boots. The omega boy moaned pathetically. “Now.”

The girl gave him and Marco a significant look before lugging Bertholdt back the way the boys had just come from.

“Coincidence?” Jean said.

“No,” and Marco was looking at Jean fearfully now, like having two male omegas bogged down by the same chemical screening meant Jean was going to collapse and throw up and go batshit crazy. But other than the soft buzz of his heat, Jean was _fine_. Marco continued, “I don’t think it is.”

“Reiner’s probably losing his shit,” Jean muttered, and pulled Marco towards the training grounds.

Except Reiner, despite holding up remarkably well during training—and afterwards too, while Marco and Jean were running laps for being appallingly late, despite the fact that it was on _Hanji’s order_ , that _bitch_ —started blinking distractedly during lunch.

“I’m sure Bertholdt’s fine,” Jean lied through his teeth, and frowned when the alpha continued to stare at his soup. “Uh, Reiner?” 

More soup-staring.

“Reiner!”

“What?” the alpha seemed to come back to himself. He wiped his forehead with a sleeve and blinked at Jean. “You say something, Jean?”

“Dude, don’t tell me you’ve caught whatever bug Bertholdt had,” Connie pointedly picked up his tray and shuffling further away from the blond. “I don’t want any of that!”

“Sorry, man,” Reiner sighed and rubbed his temple. “But I probably did. This headache _sucks._ ”

The alpha boy even made it through afternoon training, dodging and flipping like it was any other day proving to the camp exactly how ripped he was. Until Mikasa took Franz’s place as his sparring partner—and then things went quickly downhill from there.

“Reiner, stop!” Franz tried pulling the blond back as he threw himself at Mikasa. The girl jumped out the way and fought him off, but no matter how many times Reiner was forcefully kicked to the ground he kept _getting back up_. “Reiner, she’s won the round! Stop it!”

If the knives they used were real, Mikasa would have suffered at least two fatal wounds by now. It took Franz and Mikasa and Marco—who’d caught sight of the fight and came running over like the busybody he was—to finally wrestle the howling Reiner to the ground.

“What in the _blazes_ is going on?” Hanji arrived at the scene with a baffled frown. The other trainees had stopped at the sight of the Corporal heading over, and were all unabashedly watching the drama unfolding before them. “Is he in rut?”

“It smells worse than rut,” Mina whispered to Jean. Apparently Reiner and Bertholdt’s collective insanity overrode her animosity over the Fuck That Shall Not Be Named. “It’s _rancid_.”

Kind of a crude way to put it, but accurate. Jean held his own nose and winced when Franz, Mikasa and Marco lugged the frothing-at-the-mouth Reiner towards the infirmary.

Training was far more somber after that. If a virus could take down the squad’s heaviest hitters in a single day, what hope did the others have?

“Eren, Bertholdt and Reiner,” Marco noted during their afternoon break. They were sprawled over their shared bunk, too busy to be worrying about inconsequential things like _naps_. “It’s happening faster than we’d thought.”

“All Maria kids,” Jean pointed out.

“There are a lot of other Maria kids unaffected,” Marco sighed. “There has to be something else they have in common.”

“Marco!” Connie poked his head over their bunk divider and scared the living daylights out of them. Thankfully, the boy was probably the most oblivious soldier Jean had ever met and showed no signs of overhearing them. “Hey, so Reiner already paid off one of the soldiers tonight ‘cause he was gonna throw a Back-to-Camp party, except he and Bert are as sick as dogs right now and we need someone else to chaperone. Can you do it?”

“A party?” Marco repeated dumbly.

“Please,” Connie whined, clappinghis hands together. “Reiner has everything all set. The booze, the playing cards, the whole she-bang! We don’t wanna have it go to waste!”

Jean should have felt sorrier for Marco having to choose between his rebel plans and his duty as the camp mother, but he didn’t. Marco brought it upon himself, after all.

“Alright,” Marco conceded, his duty to the other boys winning out. His expression seemed surprisingly genuine, and he laughed when Connie whooped and hugged him tight around the shoulders. “But I’m not going to be able to break up any fights if that happens.”

“Liar,” Jean snorted. “You can just look at them all disappointed and they’ll stop out of sheer embarrassment.”

“We call it the Marcoppointment,” Connie whispered conspiratorially, and fled down the ladder when Marco turned the aforementioned expression on him.

“What happened to stealing Eren’s tests?” Jean asked quietly once the shorter boy was out of earshot, because seriously. Marco couldn't be in two places at once. The other boy sighed and twisted his ring. “Unless you want to tell Mikasa she let Eren get taken for nothing?”

“I’ll ask Hanji to do it,” the brunet muttered. “It’ll probably be easier for a Corporal to get away with it, too.”

“More suspicious, isn’t it?” Jean said, but there was no turning back now. Unless Marco snuck away from the party, which was possible, but there was a very real possibility the trainees would burn the cabins to the ground in his absence. 

No one would survive what Shadis would do to them when he got back.

“Training matters to me too,” Marco voiced aloud, like saying it would convince Jean it was true. Jean already knew it was true, but apparently it made Marco feel better for being a lying liar. “I care for everyone here. If Connie needs my help too… I’ll do what I can.”

Which was a sweet sentiment and all, but there was only a limited amount of Marco to go around. Jean was intimately aware of that dilemma, having born witness to everything from Marco overtaxing himself helping the other trainees to almost going berserk over his opposing allegiances.

He wanted to shake the boy. Sometimes you had to pick a side and stick with it. Jean had unwittingly made his decision a while back. Wherever Marco went, he’d follow—even if the boy tried pushing him away.

Like anyone else would call Marco out on his bullshit before he dropped over dead in exhaustion.

 

\--

 

It turned out they didn’t need Hanji after all.

“Harold wants to see you,” Eren said.

Jean gawked, because here Eren was, walking and talking and _not_ acting like a lip-biting maniac. It was the hour before dinner, and Jean had been debating between studying or working out when he’d been flagged down halfway back to the barracks.

Marco hadn’t mentioned _this._

“Why?” Jean shifted his expression into a scowl, because that was what pre-secret Jean would have done. “I have better things to do. Like get ready for dinner.”

“You can’t eat.”

“Says who?”

“Says your ass,” Eren said, and Jean bared his teeth. Trust Eren to be a sassy little shit even after a long episode of crazy. He looked worn and tired and just a little bit apprehensive around the eyes. Again: how the _hell_ did Eren get back up? The other boy continued while Jean assessed him, “Harold thinks measuring your pheromones can help him figure out what dosage of medicine to give me. Since you’re, you know. The most similar to me.”

“What?” Jean said.

Eren hissed at him. “The false heat, remember?”

False heat? Oh, right, Harold’s bullshit excuse.

Which then lead back to Harold sending Eren after him, and what the hell did Harold want with _Jean_? Weren’t they on the same side? Or, more accurately, Harold _thought_ they were on the same side, but Jean’s confidence in that grew weaker and weaker the more Eren planted his feet in the ground.

“Maybe later…?” Jean tried, because that would give him enough time to run for Marco or even Hanji.

 “I feel like I’m _dying_ ,” Eren snapped nastily. “Can you get your head of your ass for just one moment to help? You think I like asking anything from you?”

“Bitchy,” Jean commented, and yelped when Eren picked up a handful of sand and tossed it at him. “Hey!”

“I’ll drag you there myself,” the other boy said, which seemed like a valid threat despite him looking like a strong wind could blow him over. Eren was a tenacious bastard; Jean had learned quickly not to underestimate him.

And now Jean knew what Marco felt like whenever he was cornered. “I’m not going to like this, am I?” He tried not to twitch at Eren’s look of relief. It wasn't fair. Of everyone Marco needed to spill the truth to, Eren was at the top of the list for unwittingly being used as _Naturalist bait_.

As if punishing him for his traitorous, lying ways—Jean didn’t like it.

“I don’t like this,” Jean repeated when Harold had him sitting on the edge of a cot and was preparing a syringe. A _syringe_. Eren sat beside him broodily, and Jean didn’t miss the puzzled look Harold was throwing the boy’s way.

So Harold hadn’t expected Eren to throw the weird sickness off so quickly either. Interesting.

Jean repeated when Harold approached. “I don’t _like this_.”

“You’ll help Eren a lot this way,” Harold lied convincingly. Jean bared his teeth at how close he was. Nevermind government conspiracies: his heat enhanced his sense of smell enough that the man’s alpha scent grated against his every nerve. “Jean, please.”

“This doesn’t feel like a good idea,” Jean flinched when the orderly placed a firm hand on his chin and forced it upward. Having the vulnerable gland on his neck so exposed had his heart pounding. God, he should’ve never let Eren bully him here. He had the absurd urge to throw down his cards and yell, _Greigrich is on my side, don’t kill me!_

No, he could do this. Even if he kept whining, “This doesn’t—please don’t—”

“Jean, that’s your heat talking,” Eren finally interrupted after Jean’s voice reached an embarrassing pitch. Ignorant bastard. “Breathe. It’ll be fine.”

Jean was on the edge of saying something embarrassing, like _Let’s see some government spy popping your mating gland_ or _I want Marco here_ or even _I fucking hate you Eren and I hope you die in suppressant hell_ , but that was the moment Harold pierced his mating gland with the syringe.

It _hurt_.

Pressure exploded from the gland like a pin pricking a balloon, except there was nowhere for the fluids to run. It was like his neck was on fire, the pressure stinging and _wrong_ and—Jean wanted to pull back and away from the pain but the grip on his chin was firm.

“Just a few more seconds,” Harold tried to soothe him in an alpha voice, except he must have shit for brains because it just reminded Jean’s fragile omega-sense that an _alpha_ was doing this to him.

An alpha that wasn’t Marco.

Jean jerked back with such force the syringe snapped.

“Shit!” Harold dropped the syringe. “Eren, hold him down!”

“There’s a needle _sticking out of his neck_ ,” Eren’s panicked voice sounded so far away. Jean barely registered it. All he knew was there was something still inside his gland, not a mating bite but a stinging object digging into the sensitive flesh—

Harold grabbed his neck and pressed the gland down. Unwanted hormones flooded Jean’s system, useless without the chemicals found in an alpha’s or a beta’s spit but still nauseating. Jean resisted the urge to gag and kicked at the threat, trying to dislodge those hands but found himself too weak. Too small. He was pinned down and it scared him.

“Jean, calm down,” Eren tried breaking through his panic. “Jean—can you hear me?”

The cool touch of forceps pressed against his skin. It gripped the offensive object and drew it out slowly, steadily, and the empty ache of it filled Jean was relief. It was gone. The needle was out.

The moment Harold let him go, Jean leaned over the cot and vomited.

“Don’t touch me,” he hissed when the orderly tried to hold him back up. As he hadn’t eaten in two and half days, most of the vomit splattered on the floor was bile. “Don’t—you have what you want, don’t you?”

Harold backed away and glanced down at the broken syringe. The pump had a shallow amount of cloudy liquid inside of it.

“I still need to disinfect the wound,” he said, but Jean curled up defensively when the man stepped closer to him.

“I’ll do it,” Eren interrupted, reaching his hand out for the antiseptic. “Jean, lift your chin up for me.”

“No.”

“You’re gushing gross shit everywhere, come on.” Eren crawled into Jean’s space and swiped a finger against his gland. Jean flinched but didn’t react aggressively, even when Eren lifted his slick finger to show Jean the gland fluid covering it. “Let’s close the wound, okay?”

“I hate you,” Jean said. Eren cleaned the gland roughly, not from spite but from inexperience. He pressed a piece of gauze against the gland and then taped a bandage over it. “I hate you. This is your fault.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eren said. “You’ll live.”

Jean still felt sick. The pain wasn’t entirely physical; in fact, the physical aspect was nothing worse than stubbing his foot, or twisting his ankle when landing wrong using the gear. It was the deep sense of wrong, like someone had put a knife through his soul and twisted it about. Jean knew the moment Harold suggested extracting the fluid what a bad idea it was, but theory was nothing to reality.

He never wanted anything to pierce his gland again. How omegas did this with alphas—or betas—eluded him, because it _hurt so fucking bad_.

“Thanks, Jean,” Harold finally said, watching the two of them awkwardly. He placed the syringe onto a tray and carried it to a desk. “This is very helpful. You’ve done Eren a great service today.”

“Yeah,” Jean muttered, grabbing the table edge and hauling himself up. He cast a cursory glance around him, and his gaze eventually landed on a flask of something besides Eren. He said in a quiet voice, “Eren, what’s that.”

“This?” Eren glanced down at it. “Something Harold said would help with the false heat.”

“You haven’t drank it yet, have you?” Jean hissed, and Eren looked miffed at his vehemence.

“No, I was too busy _babying you_ —hey!”

Jean grabbed the flask and uncapped it. He might as well take advantage of this shit show now that he was here—or, more accurately, he wasn't going to leave Harold unpunished. He took a deep breath. Come on, Jean. You’ve had to play weak, stereotypical omega all throughout your heat; one more time was nothing.

“You bastard!” he screeched, and vaulted right towards the orderly. Harold turned from where he’d placed Jean’s vial of fluid—and that sent a sick feeling right to Jean’s gut—and gasped when Jean threw the contents of the flask right at him.

It soaked the orderly from head to toe, and Jean knew he’d guessed right when Harold’s expression immediately turned to horror.

“You _touched_ me!” Jean continued, keeping up the ruse even when Harold ignored him in favor of rushing to the door. The showers, no doubt. “I hope you rot in hell!”

“Jean!” Eren whirled on him once the door slammed shut. He gaped at Jean accusingly. “What did you do that for? That was—you’re—”

And Jean had spent far too long on the other side of this situation to keep up the act. Fuck whatever Marco’s worries that Eren was an enemy the government was hunting down. Eren was the one having all kinds of fluids and chemicals pumped in and out of his body; he at least deserved to know the truth.

“You’re not having a false heat,” he said. He staggered when he tried stepping towards the desk. Still feeling woozy. Not good. “Harold’s not trying to fix you.”

“You’re delirious.”

“I’m telling the _truth_ ,” Jean snapped, and made it to the desk. He began systematically opening and closing the drawers until he found the neat little tray filled with all sorts of bottles marked _Eren_. He grabbed all of them and stuffed them into his jacket pocket. “Y’know Bertholdt and Reiner came down with the same thing you did?”

Doubt crept into Eren’s face for the first time. “They’re—they were sprayed with suppressant too, at Wall Maria.”

“And you all happened to fall ill the same day within hours of each other,” Jean said flatly. He picked up his own mating gland fluid—ew, ew, ew—and carefully put that into his other pocket. “Look, Eren—the Naturalists caught wind of the government conducting some sort of chemical screening. Don’t know what they want, but I don’t think the people who made suppressant are going to care about your wellbeing.”

“So you _do_ know the Naturalists,” Eren hissed, but was otherwise uncharacteristically quiet at this revelation.

Jean didn't have the energy to deal with this right now, “Look, just—don’t take anymore medicine Harold gives you, okay? We don’t want to know we’ve caught on.” 

“Are you saying I should _stay here_ ,” Eren yelped. “You just told me these people are _after me!_

“They are,” Jean argued back. “But we don’t know why. Marco thinks they’re transporting you all somewhere—they wanted to wait until they moved you all so they know where—”

“Great, so I’m a human tracking device—”

“But you’re _awake_ , Eren,” Jean looked the boy in the eye. “Reiner and Bertholdt—they’re too sick to do much right now. But if you’re there being transported with them…”

“I can be a soldier on the inside,” Eren concluded. He curled his knees up under his chin, and that blasted omega-sense under Jean’s skin yearned to comfort him. The boy looked so small and tired and weak; and _Jean_ had been the one who’d gone through a heat frenzy yesterday. For all Jean was trying to sell the soldier aspect, he wasn’t sure how much use Eren would actually be in a fight.

“Gotta go,” Jean muttered when the silence became too much. “Harold’s gonna come back soon.”

“And what do I tell him when he finds out you took all those—whatever those are?”

“I don’t know, make something up,” Jean snapped. “Like I left and you passed out and before you knew it the drawer was open.”

Eren scowled at him but didn’t protest when Jean stumbled to the door.

He’d barely pried it open when he heard Eren cough behind him.

“Thanks,” the other omega said quietly, like it physically hurt for him to say it but he had to say it anyway. “For, you know. Telling me.”

“I hate you,” Jean responded flatly, and slipped out the door.

 

\--

 

Marco almost dropped his used dinner tray when he saw him.

“Who did this to you?” he said after managing to get his tray to the drop-off station in one piece. Jean jerked his head away when the boy nudged his chin, sick to death of baring his neck. “What happened?”

“Harold,” Jean started, and realized a split second later that that probably wasn’t the smartest thing to admit. Marco’s eyes went wide as saucers.

“He wanted my fluids or something, but I took it back,” Jean hastily said. He patted his pockets to let Marco know the vials were safe. “I got Eren’s too, no need to talk to Hanji—”

“Harold took fluid your _mating gland_?” and shit, that raw outrage underlying Marco’s voice meant the boy wasn't going to focus on anything else. Jean shouldn’t have confirmed that _Harold_ had been the one doing the procedure, but too little too late. The taller boy stepped in front of him and stared Jean down with chocolate eyes blowing black. “Did he pop it?”

“With a needle,” Jean scowled. He didn’t resist when Marco pressed an insistent hand to his neck a second time, lifting his chin so the boy could get a good look at the wound. “Not with his teeth or anything. I’m fine, Marco. Just a little frazzled.”

“They should have gotten another orderly to do it.”

“Said Mikasa a thousand times forever,” Jean said. He hissed when Marco began picking the bandage off. “Marco! What the fuck.”

“Sorry,” he muttered but didn’t stop. Jean threw a look around them. Most of the other trainees were busy stuffing their faces, but there were a few giving them curious glances from behind their bowls. Twisting away before Marco could get the bandage off, Jean took him by the hand and dragged him outside.

“What is wrong with you,” he managed to say when Marco crowded him against the siding. “It’s your fault if I bleed everywhere—”

The other boy ignored him and pulled the last tape off, exposing the sunken gland. Jean winced at the cold air hitting the wound, the skin tingling. It probably looked awful. From watching Eren throw away soaked antiseptic pads, Jean suspected it was still bleeding.

The tingling intensified when Marco leaned in and licked it.

“Jesus!” Jean jolted. His tongue was hot and wet and rough against his sensitive skin, shocking him like lightning. “Marco—”

Marco ignored him and licked it again, tilting his head to head to better press his mouth against the gland and okay. This was a really, really bad idea.

Alphas and omegas licked each other’s mating glands after biting them during _mating_ , the spit containing enzymes that activated hormones to start the _mating_ process. Marco was unpresented and so the spit didn’t do anything, but that didn’t mean him licking Jean’s gland wasn’t a bad idea.

“Marco,” he said warningly, reaching up to grab the other boy by the shoulders. Marco didn’t even pause, adding kisses to the kittenish licks and pressing Jean more firmly against the siding. It kind of stung, to be honest, but not in a bad way. He felt vulnerable and on the spot, almost like he had when Harold had first pressed the syringe into his neck to begin with.

The difference was, this time he liked it.

He liked the weight of Marco pressing against him, his faint scent surrounding them like a shroud. It reminded him too much of Marco pressing him into the cot, slick as he sank into him over and over—

And that’s why this was a fucking bad idea. The tingling kept radiating outwards, down his arm and up Jean’s nape into his head, until his thoughts mushed together into a buzzing mess. Giving up, Jean tilted his chin further up to ease Marco’s access.

Was this a sex thing? Maybe. Mating glands pretty much guaranteed a sexual component, but the tingling wasn’t just centered around his groin. He felt warm all over. Safe. Close. Marco was licking away whatever trace scent Harold left on his skin, never mind how stupid and caveman that instinct was. Reclaiming him.

Okay, so maybe it was a bit of a sex thing.

Marco pressed one more wet kiss to his gland before pulling back.

His eyes were dark and glazed over with thinly restrained lust; his lips were slick with spit and a dab of blood. Jean moved on autopilot and wiped away the excess spit with his thumb. Marco blinked.

“Now do you want to talk business?” Jean said dryly, pulling his thumb back and licking it. It tasted like copper and spit and, strangely enough, _Jean_. Like his slick—not that Jean made a habit of tasting his own slick—except without the muskiness; a purer form of whatever pheromones that made him uniquely himself. The other boy’s gaze zeroed in on Jean’s tongue like he couldn’t help it.

“The bleeding stopped,” Marco said hoarsely. Jean narrowed his eyes at him.

“Is that your excuse?”

“I once heard that saliva can help heal a burst gland,” Marco said, and holy shit he really was using that as an excuse. “Something about the enzymes signaling your body to patch things up.”

“I don’t think that’s why people lick mating glands,” Jean informed him, but Marco only snaked a hand around his waist and pulled him into a kiss. Jean rolled his eyes at the obvious distraction but melted into it, parting his lips to let Marco’s copper-blood-saliva tongue lick into his mouth. It was easy to forget their earlier fighting over being together-or-not-together, not with so many other problems being thrown their way.

That, and Jean’s heat was already amped up from days of teasing, lighting his skin with want the other boy easily filled. He’d already been half-hard from Marco’s licking, and his dick seemed to swell further the more they kissed—

“Guys, Franz is asking if you want to have a group— _holy fucking shit_.”

Marco and Jean broke away so fast spit dribbled down Jean’s chin. He itched to wipe it, except that would only serve to draw Connie’s attention to it.

The shorter boy was gaping at them both. 

“Um—okay,” Connie put his hands up. “Right. I’ll... I’ll just go tell the guys you’re busy, no need to stop your, uh, making out because of me—”

“Oh my god,” Jean said, at the same time Marco cracked a soft smile and answered, “It’s fine, Connie. What was this thing you’re talking about?”

“A group exercise,” Connie said. He kept his gaze firmly above their waistlines, and Jean didn’t know whether to laugh hysterically or cry in his hands. “Um. Which is code for the party, which we are certainly not having at the northwest training grounds.”

“Fine,” Jean snapped, face burning red the more his lust-filled haze cleared itself. “We’ll be there. Just go away.”

“Right. Good.” Connie turned but didn’t leave immediately. After an awkward pause, he visibly steeled himself, turned around, and gave Jean a thumbs up. “Also, good on you, man. You just won me fifteen dollars.”

“Go _away_ , Connie!” Jean shouted, and the boy turned tail and fled.

Unfortunately, the interruption was like a cold bucket of rationality dumped over both their heads. The mood was gone. Sanity restored. For a long moment, Jean and Marco stood side-by-side, not quite looking at each other but not quite ignoring each other either. Jean didn’t have to turn his head to know how red Marco’s cheeks were. His own were probably worse. God, this was awkward.

“Okay,” Marco suddenly said in a normal voice. He bumped Jean’s arm with his own and stepped forward. “You want to go get some water first, or…”

“I can’t keep dealing with this shit,” Jean blurted out. He hadn’t meant to, but forgive him if he was a bit tetchy after today’s nonsense. “Marco, _please_.”

Marco’s nice-guy smile froze on his face. “Uh,” he said coherently.

Jean knew this wasn’t the best time to bring up their argument—what with Eren and Harold and all this Naturalist-vs-Equalizers drama stirring up trouble—but he couldn’t help feeling frustrated.

Blame his heat. They’d made out. Marco had _licked his mating gland_. They were shit at pretending to be just friends, and both of them knew it. 

“Forget it,” Jean muttered, turning around and stalking resolutely to the barracks. He heard Marco quickly scrambling to catch up with him. “We’ve got more important things to worry about, don’t we? No time for me.”

“What? Jean!” but Marco either wasn’t close enough to grab Jean’s arm or was too much of a coward. Jean was probably being ridiculous, but he was at the end of his rope here. He'd kill for something to distract him from their impending doom. Anything at all.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The government faction in charge of suppressants is called the Equalizers (after the Greater Equalizing Project.) Harold the Orderly (from the earlier chapters) finally reveals why he has an actual name...


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re hot.” Marco responded.
> 
> “Why do you never use that in a sexy way? Like, every time you say it, it’s so. Unsexy.”
> 
> “I’m not trying to be sexy, Jean,” Marco frowned. He turned to Eren and gestured for the other omega to come over. “Eren, come here. Isn't Jean burning up?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugggggghhhhh

14.

 

 “Excellent, excellent,” Hanji hummed, taking the little vials of Eren-juice—gross, _gross_ —like she’d been given the keys to the kingdom. “Performing our own tests can help us figure out exactly what the Equalizers are looking for. Of course, it’d be best if we could cross-examine these with another affected trainee…”

“I’m not sneaking back into the infirmary,” Jean snipped that idea in the bud. He and Marco had literally rock-paper-scissored who’d get to go to the party set-up and who had to hand over the vials, and Jean had been unfortunate enough to lose. “You gotta deal with just that for now.”

“Fine, fine,” Hanji sighed. She placed the vials in a wooden box and snapped it shut. “Though you say Eren’s already shaken off some of its effects? That anomaly can skew the results…”

Jean, taking Hanji’s muttered scientific babbling for a dismissal, turned heel and strode to the door. Thank god the woman hadn’t asked after Jean’s sample—he’d rather keep his own fluids to himself, thanks.

“Boo!” someone exclaimed mere millimeters from his ear, and Jean lashed out in surprise. His target danced out of the way and smacked him upside the head in punishment.

“Ymir!” he growled as the girl threw back her head and cackled. She was a tall, lanky shadow in the dim moonlight, and for once there was no beautiful omega girl reining her in. Of all the trainees, Jean had thought Ymir’d head over to the party and get smashed first. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” Ymir shrugged. She peered through the doorway and watched Hanji bustling about the office. “Just me and the girl in charge.”

“In the middle of the night? 

“Oh, and what are _you_ doing?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” Jean lifted his chin up, and Ymir—Ymir, rather than laughing at him again, just frowned.

“Look Kirstein,” she said in a serious voice. “I don’t know how much you're involved, but seeing as you’re bedding with Marco fucking Bodt, I assume you know enough about what’s happening here. I need to talk to Corporal Zoe now. Get out of the way.”

Jean narrowed his eyes, because the last few days had clearly taught him that he needed to be suspicious of everything. Especially anything out of the ordinary. And everything from Ymir’s actions to her words was clearly _out of the ordinary._

“Jean, who is it?” Hanji called out, finally realizing the door was still propped open.

“Ymir,” Jean said. “She’s—”

“Corporal,” Ymir called out, shoving her way past Jean and waltzing right into the room. Jean snarled at her for her blatant disrespect, because potential-alpha or not he was pretty sure he still outranked her.  “Corporal, I need you to take a sample of my blood.”

“Oh?” Hanji glanced up. “And why is that?”

“Because I’m next,” Ymir said flatly. Hanji sat up at once. “I can feel it, and I rather you take my blood now before the goddamn Equalizers get their hands on it.”

“How do you know about the Equalizers?” Jean said. He peered at her fingers: no Naturalist ring or anything else that wasn't standard cadet gear.

Ymir gave threw him a wry grin. “Settle down, pretty boy. I don’t like talking ‘bout it, but I’m from Wall Maria too. The suppressant-testing wasn’t much of a secret.”

“Another Wall Maria kid,” Hanji muttered to herself. “If you’re sure you’re feeling the effects of chemical screening…”

“I am.”

“…then yes, I can take a sample. Compare it to Eren’s, give Erwin a more accurate report. Hold on, there should be a syringe somewhere around here…” 

“You should probably head to the campsite,” Ymir told Jean bluntly, like he couldn't tell she just wanted him to go away. “Marco’s doing a piss-poor job reining in the property damage. Shadis is going to ream all of us if he comes back to see the camp destroyed.”

“I _was_ until you showed up,” Jean snapped. “Sorry I’m not feeling very friendly after being tossed around by government assholes the last few days.”

“Oh, boo-hoo,” Ymir had the gall to roll her eyes. “You haven’t seen _anything_ yet, kid.”

And if that wasn’t a cryptic declaration of doom.

Jean glared at her but made his retreat—for all he suffered today, he deserved that goddamn drink. Let Hanji deal with Ymir and the Equalizers and their weird chemical screening. It wasn’t his problem.

Not tonight.

 

\--

 Drinks and heat don’t mix well. By the time someone bothered telling him that, it was too late.

“You are _cheating_ ,” Jean hissed when Eren slapped his winning hand down on the ground with a smug grin. The boy had made an brief escape from the infirmary and, rather than spend the time planning attack patterns with Jean, chose instead to _do this_. Jean tossed up his own cards in fury and watched them fall around them like leaves. “You—you cheated! You’re not this good at—at poker!”

“Well maybe it’s because I’m the only one here not _smashed_ ,” Eren said. He was looking significantly more cheerful now that he’d found the bright side to being forbidden from alcohol. Namely, he got the unique opportunity to rob everybody blind and get away with it. “Now pay up.”

“That’s not true,” Jean muttered into his beer bottle as Connie tried organizing the cards around them. As Connie was gathering actual leaves as well as cards, Jean supposed their poker game was over. “Marco’s not drunk.”

“Marco’s drunk,” Eren said. “I just saw him trying to teach Thomas how to aim a rifle.”

“So?”

“With a chair. And he wasn’t talking to Thomas, he was talking to Mina, except he kept calling her ‘Thomas’ the entire time.”

Something pierced through Jean’s alcoholic haze. “Mina?”

Eren had the gall to roll his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, Marco’s talking to another omega. Big deal. He talks to me all the time.”

“I don’t like it when he talks to you,” Jean informed him. “You’re a dick.”

“And you’re an asshole.”

“No, no, no, that’s not right. I’m a dick. You’re the asshole. If we’re fucking, we both know who’s on top.”

“Oh my god,” Eren chortled. “This is priceless.”

As Jean watched the boy gather his winnings, he fervently began praying that Armin would come and save them all from Eren gouging their wallets. Because obviously none of them were sober enough to leave the other omega’s web on their own. Someone detached themselves from the loud game of charades happening over in the other corner, and Jean perked up.

Unfortunately, the savior ambling over was significantly taller, darker and more freckled than Armin Arlert.

“No. I’m—I’m still mad at you,” Jean hissed as Marco tried to squeeze in between him and Connie. “Go away.”

“Maybe I’m not here for you,” Marco said, voice filled with such false cheer Jean wanted to stab him in the eye. “Maybe I’m here for Eren.”

“Hey, don’t use me as an excuse,” Eren said dryly before Jean could respond. "Not when he's mad at you for refusing to make an honest man out of him.”

Jean threw his beer bottle at Eren and missed by a wide margin. Eren threw the bottle right back, and would have hit true if Marco didn’t reach out and catch it. Jean glared at the other boy enviously; of course Marco was the kind of drunk that became smashed in certain areas but retained flawless perfection in others. Like speaking normally. And catching beer bottles.

Eren began distributing the cards between the four of them, not even bothering to ask Marco if he wanted to join. Which was fine, because Marco began blatantly cheating anyway by joining forces with Connie and throwing unwanted cards at Eren’s head. Jean spent a moment envious of how buddy-buddy they were being before reminding himself that he was angry and didn’t want Marco’s company.

It took up so much attention, he didn’t even notice the hand around his waist until it slipped under his shirt. The sudden warmth of skin-on-skin startled Jean from his thoughts.

“We are in public,” Jean informed Marco McGrabbyhands loudly, and Eren snorted.

“You’re hot.” Marco responded.

“Why do you never use that in a sexy way? Like, every time you say it, it’s so. Unsexy.”

“I’m not trying to be sexy, Jean,” Marco frowned. He turned to Eren and gestured for the other omega to come over. “Eren, come here. Isn't Jean burning up?”

“Don’t touch me,” Jean growled at him, but as usual Eren was an invasive little shit and paid no attention to him. He pressed his stupid, clammy hand on Jean’s forehead.

“Marco’s right, Jean," the other omega declared. "You’re really warm.”

“I want to feel it too! I want to feel it too!” Connie shouted from behind Marco, and oh god there were too many hands on him now. Jean felt like a sideshow freak. He squirmed back into Marco and curled his lip, but couldn’t manage to dislodge the grabby hands on his face.

“You’re like a furnace,” Connie marveled. His cheeks glowed pink in the lantern light. “We can roast potatoes on you! Where’s Sasha, this is great.”

“This is not great,” Marco informed him. “Jean, I think it’s time for you to go to the isolation room.”

“No,” Jean snapped, the pleasant buzz under his skin evaporating instantly.

“I will carry you,” Eren threatened him, and Jean was drunk enough he seriously considered the threat manageable until remembering that _he hated Eren._  

“Fine,” Jean snapped when Eren reached out his hands threateningly. He staggered to his feet with minimal stumbling. “I’m going. Have fun without… without me. You,” he pointed at Marco who was still frowning up at him. “Stay away. I’m still mad at you.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Jean decided. “I can take care of myself.” Not that yesterday was proof that he couldn’t or anything. But Jean didn’t care. If Marco was going to play the friends card, Jean was holding him to it.

“You’re drunk,” Marco reminded him in a mild tone. “You’ll get dehydrated easily. I’ll bring you some water, alright?”

Jean suspected Marco was manipulating him, but his thoughts were starting to slip through his fingers. Determination was obviously a timed value. “Fine,” he conceded. “But give me an hour.”

“He only needs an hour,” Eren muttered to himself, and Jean flipped him off on the way out of the commons.

He ran across a worried-looking Krista at the edge of the campsite and felt compelled to inform her, “Ymir’s getting her blood sucked out by the Corporal.” Krista threw him a half-baffled, half-alarmed look. “Don’t worry, she asked for it.”

“I know Ymir went to the Corporal,” the omega girl said. She blinked large blue eyes at him, and Jean would’ve appreciated her beauty more if, y’know, his heat wasn’t diverting his attention to the tall, dark and freckled. Not Ymir. God, his brain really _was_ mush. “I’m looking for Annie.”

“Annie?” Jean’s brain tried to follow this change. After a moment, he ventured, “Doesn’t she normally do her own thing?”

“Yes, but she promised she’d come with me since Ymir wasn’t coming…” Krista sighed. “If you see her, can you tell her I’m waiting?”

“Hmm,” Jean wrinkled his nose. “Uh sure, okay. I mean, I’m going to an isolation room so I don’t—I don’t think I’ll see her? But yeah, no, it’ll suck if she’s collapsed somewhere, yeah?”

From Krista’s worried expression, that was the wrong thing to say. Oops.

Deciding to cut his losses, Jean fled. Seriously, what had he been thinking mixing alcohol with his heat? Thank god this was his last day—he wouldn’t be able to handle more of this shit if he’d tried.

Just one more session spent jacking off and then he’d be free to pretend all he wanted that he didn’t want to suck Marco’s dick.

Great plan.

 

\--

 

This was a shitty plan. A really, really shitty plan, because an hour after kicking down the isolation room door, Jean wasn't even close to getting off.

It was his mom’s fault.

It was her fault for giving him this horrible, embarrassing and impractical idea, and he was going to write her a very angry letter for even giving him the opportunity to humiliate himself like this. To make matters worse, the shame seemed to be washing away his inebriation, though maybe that was all in his head.

Because Jean doubted the glass would feel as slippery in his hands sober.

“Shit!” he bit out when he lost his grip on the dildo for the twentieth time and it popped out of his ass. When he tried picking it up, it slid from his grip like a wet bar of soap and skidded across the cot. Jean stared it down with murderous rage. He’d have to crawl over there to grab the damn thing again, and he was seriously debating whether or not it was worth the effort. His fingers never gave him this much trouble.

Except his fingers didn’t have a knot, and from—from the first time he’d learned to recognize when his body was gagging for one. Which it was. Now.

Goddammit.

Jean retrieved the dildo, got down onto his hands and knees and angled it behind him. Again.

All the stress that had been building inside him had evidently tensed his ass up in record time. But Jean just wanted this to be over, so instead of waiting and being gentle with himself or whatever sissy bullshit matronly omegas spewed, he braced himself and rammed the dildo in.

 _Fuck_. This must be what a log felt like when the axe split it in the middle, because Jean felt a second away from falling into two halves and carried off to the fire. He was on fire. Not in the kind of good, I’m-in-heat way either. More like his entire lower half was screaming for him to pull the damn dildo out, please, he was going to die kind of way.

Jean bit his lip so hard he bled, but he didn’t take the dildo out. One beat. Two. One good thing male omegas were their durable asses. Asses made of steel. It was pretty much a mandatory evolutionary trait after thousands of years of foreign objects ramming themselves up there.

Jean wasn’t sure why his thoughts were so unsexy. It probably was because he felt unsexy. He was gross and tired and on the headache-y side of drunk, and the prospect of having to clean this all up later almost had him giving up right there. But he couldn’t. The heat demanded a full-blown knot-simulating orgasm, and Jean was helpless against its whims.

Finally, when he could breath again, Jean tried moving the dildo.

It was… uncomfortable. Full. Colder than anything he was used to, and unnaturally smooth. He didn’t particularly like it, but he’d take what he could get. He grit his teeth and tried changing the angle of it. His vaginal entrance was somewhere here, come on—come _on_ …

Except the angle he needed to press the dildo inside almost guaranteed he’d drop it, and Jean wasn’t starting this whole thing over again. There had to be another way. He continued trying to nudge the stupid thing into place, grip becoming more slippery every passing moment and seriously, why couldn’t things just work themselves out? Just once?

Hate, hate, _hate_.

Jean’s skin shone with sweat. His calf was starting to cramp. His forearm ached from bracing against the cot in the same position for so long, and his other arm was sore from having to reach behind him.

Jean’s cheeks were wet. If he wasn’t concentrating every fiber of his being into getting through this shit-fuckery, he’d suspect he was crying.

Which was, of course, when Marco walked in.

“Oh my god,” was the first thing Marco said, and Jean didn't even have the energy to freeze in mortification. He just pressed his dripping face into the sheets and heard rather than saw Marco walk hesitantly inside the room and kick the door closed.

“Jean?” Marco’s footfalls puttered towards him, and before Jean could gather the energy to properly throw a fit, the cot dipped and Marco was climbing in next to him. “Are you crying?”

“I’m not,” Jean hissed. He scrambled to sit up and winced when the dildo slipped out again and damn. He lost. The thought of having to go through the mortifying ordeal all over again sent a fresh wave of wetness to Jean’s eyes.

“Wipe your face,” Marco said, handing him a handkerchief. It hurt Jean’s pride to take it, but as he was on his knees crying with a dildo jammed up his ass a few seconds ago, he decided his pride was already shattered. So he wiped his face and took the cup of water Marco offered him next without protest. The cool water helped a little, but it was like a napkin trying to mop up a lake. He gave it back to Marco and watched him place it aside.

“I was planning to change your sheets while you were sleeping,” Marco said, gaze flickering to Jean's neck and therefore betraying his real motivations, except Jean didn’t give a damn anymore, “but it looks like you haven’t slept yet.”

“You’re drunk,” Jean muttered. “You’d probably toss me out of bed trying.”

“I’m not drunk,” Marco said, and started when Jean leaned right into his space. He breathed out and Jean wrinkled his nose. “See? Sobered up already.”

“ _Sobering_ up.”

“Well you’re kind of drunk,” Marco reminded him. “I think it’s more than fair.”

“I have a headache. Headachey drunk. I want to _sleep_. I’ve been trying….

“The entire time?”

“I said I was trying! Not that I—ah, fuck it.” Damn everything, because those were definitely tears rolling down his cheek. He scrubbed at his eyes with the handkerchief so hard his skin smarted.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Marco pulled his wrists away. Jean hissed and tried yanking himself out of his grip, but Marco had already proven he could beat Jean in a physical fight. Jean _hated him_. “Just… sit still, okay? It’s cold in here. Let me get your blanket.”

Jean didn’t feel very cold, but then he realized it wasn’t because the room was hot. _He_ was hot. Hot in an unsexy way, because Marco was right as usual.

 _Hate, hate,_ hate _._

The brunet dragged the blanket from the floor and over Jean’s shoulders. He then pulled Jean, blanket and all, right against him. Jean huffed but didn’t move away, and instead let Marco brush his hair back from his forehead. His touch was gentle and deliberate as usual, and soon the frustration feeding the twisting in his stomach gave way to butterflies. Jean swallowed, flushing red.

“So,” Marco finally said, breaking the silence. “Want to explain what you were doing?”

Jean scowled. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself and debated shutting down, except the frustration inside him practically demanded a rant. “I couldn’t. Um. Use it properly.”

“The dildo?” Marco blinked.

“No, the other cock I keep hidden in my pillow—yes, the dildo. It’s… it’s cold and it’s slippery and—” Jean tried to make a motion describing exactly how infuriating the thing was and failed.

“Your fingers worked before, didn’t they?” Marco frowned.

“Doesn’t have a knot,” Jean muttered. “And it’s not like you were here to help.”

Marco had the gall to frown at him, “You said you didn’t want my help.”

“I thought that’s what _you_ wanted!” Jean hissed back. He wriggled out of Marco’s grip and gathered the blankets around him like a shield. “But then again, I never know what you want! Like the first time was a one-time-thing, except you’ve been acting _really alpha_ over me and that isn’t helping!"

Marco winced. “Jean—”

But Jean was on a roll. “I don’t know, Marco—sometimes, I’m like okay, Marco needs space to be friends, but then you do crap like this where you just _take care of me_ and it fucks with my head—”

“Jean—”

“—and I know you want me and I… I want you too, alright? There, I said it.” Jean’s face burned crimson. When did his life turn into a romance novel? Drunken confessions and all. “But you don’t want to be with me? I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

Marco suddenly grabbed him in a crushing hug, so unexpected Jean yelped and flailed and kind of hit Marco in the eye. The boy didn’t even flinch. “Jean. Oh god. No, you’re not doing anything wrong, you’re _perfect_ —"

“ _Liar_.”

“—there’s nothing wrong with you. I just—the problem’s me, Jean. I’m the one with something wrong.”

“The only thing wrong with you is thinking there’s something wrong with you,” Jean said, mercilessly getting to the heart of the matter. “And even if there is— _and there’s not_ —I don’t care—”

“I care,” Marco interrupted. He sighed. “I still care and it’s stupid, but I can’t help it. I just wanted you to know it’s not you, Jean. You’re perfect. I love you.”

“What the fuck,” Jean felt like his head was going to combust, because Marco just seemed to love his ill-timed confessions. “You can’t just say something like that.”

“I’ve told you before,” Marco informed him. “And it’s true.”

“I know it’s true! I meant—I mean—”

And Jean realized Marco had him cornered, pressing close with his eyes wide and earnest and understanding. His arm felt like it was burning into Jean’s side. He scowled defensively but didn’t move back, even when Marco dipped his head down slow enough for Jean to see the kiss coming a league away.

“I hate you,” Jean said unhappily when Marco pulled back to breathe. He leaned up and kissed the brunet back thoroughly, with familiarity, and was it scary how easy this was becoming? It was really fucking scary. “I—ah—I hate you so much.”

“Uh-huh,” Marco said, smiling into the kiss. Bastard.

“I mean it!” Jean managed to lick Marco’s bottom lip one last time before breaking it off. He pinched Marco’s side. “I know you’re trying to distract me.”

“Am I?”

“Yes! Marco, we need to talk this out,” Jean jerked back when Marco tried kissing him again. His omega-sense sulked, but it had already gotten its away plenty of times the last two days. “So it’s not me. Fine. What does that mean?” His deflated gland burned, and he couldn’t help but continue, “Should I be asking someone else for help while you work out your inner demons?”

Marco’s expression darkened at the suggestion, and Jean couldn’t even feel bad for being a dick. Served him right. He shrugged, feigning nonchalance, “Well if _you’re_ not going to…”

“I am,” Marco said. Jean smirked. The brunet, having realized his admission, colored. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You are,” Jean conceded. “So you don’t want anyone else touching me, and I don’t want anyone else touching you. That’s like, the definition of being together.”

Marco said nothing.

Jean leaned in and whispered into his ear, “Say it."

“Jean…” Marco sighed, but Jean wasn’t letting Marco wriggle away. Not this time. He cupped the boy’s chin in his hands and glared into his eyes defiantly.

“ _Say it_.”

Marco was blushing now, and only Marco Bodt could find confessing love easier than _making things official_. “Don’t… don’t ask anyone else.”

“Hm,” Jean said. He wrapped his arms around the brunet’s neck and kissed him once as a reward. “And?”

Marco tucked his face into the crook of Jean’s neck and said breathed. His hands clutched Jean's waist. After a heavy moment, he said in a muffled voice, “...because you’re _mine_.”

And really, it shouldn't have been so simple. But it was. Because he wanted to be Marco’s as much as he was fundamentally convinced that Marco was _his_.

“That’s all I wanted to hear,” Jean said. After waiting a long enough time for Marco to collect himself, he wriggled onto the boy's lap with a grin that both of them could tell was shaky as hell. “So what are you going to do now, Mr. Nice Guy? You going to help me out?”

“I said I would,” Marco huffed. Jean rolled his hips down onto his clothed erection and whined when the brunet put a hand on his hip to stop him. “But not with that. It’s too... let me get used to it all, please.”

“It’s not like you haven’t done it before,” Jean scowled, but didn’t push. One thing he'd learned this last week: Marco had the most bizarre hang-ups. “And if not your dick, then what?”

Marco smiled.

 

\--

 

“No,” Jean said. “No, it’s not going to work.”

“Jean, can you at least try?” Marco sighed. “We're both wandering into new territory and—”

“That thing is a _demon from hell_ ,” and Jean wasn’t even bothering playing it cool. An hour with that goddamn dildo had traumatized him. Did Marco want him to r _elive trauma_?

“Honestly,” Marco huffed, and leaned back to remove his shirt. This was an excellent change of pace, and Jean eagerly assisted so he could poke and pinch Marco’s soft freckly skin and chortle at how the boy wrinkled his nose at him. He poked Jean back, and the omega feigned a hurt look.

"What are you, five?"

“Nah. I’m just a nervous, inexperienced wreck,” Marco said cheerfully, looking anything but nervous and inexperienced. Not that he was strutting about like a stud, but he was comfortable with Jean’s body. Namely, Jean’s body on _his_ body, and he proved that by wriggling out of his pants and pulling the other boy back on top of him. “How ‘bout we start small?”

Jean looked at him suspiciously. “You’re trying to trick me, aren’t you?”

“Yup,” Marco said.

He wrapped his arms around Jean’s waist and leaned forward, toppling the boy onto his back. The change in perspective had Jean disoriented, only being able to focus on Marco’s soft smile above him and his blown pupils. The freckled boy pressed a kiss to Jean’s lips before curling a hand under his thigh and—whoa—hitching his leg up against his chest. “Is it working?”

“No,” Jean hissed, though arousal took most of the anger from his voice. He opened his mouth to bitch some more, but his breath stuttered when he felt Marco’s fingers run through the slick along the cleft of his ass. Combined with the boy’s weight on top of him and the heat humming under his skin, Jean was fast forgetting what he was protesting about to begin with. “I—you weren’t—”

“I am nervous,” Marco admitted. His cheeks were flushed red and his erection was pressing so wet and hot against Jean’s thigh and Jean couldn’t even describe how good it felt to know how much he wanted him. “But it’s always been easier for me to take care of you, Jean.”

Another spike of arousal ran right through him. Jean tried getting a hold of himself, because Marco wasn’t even being subtle in trying to distract him. But just because he knew it didn't mean he could do anything about it.

Marco’s fingers reached his entrance and pressed against it. Jean bucked when the tip of his finger dipped in—Christ, he must be soaked, Marco hadn’t pressed that hard—and Marco let out a little groan. He turned his head and breathed into Jean’s knee.

“Can I…?” his voice was hoarse. Jean couldn’t think past the fact that the tip of Marco’s finger was inside, just enough for him to be aware of it but not enough for him actually feel anything. This was teasing bordering on torture. Without warning, he hooked his hitched leg over Marco’s shoulder, using the support to lift his ass up in a better angle. Marco fell forward in surprise. The rest of his finger slid smoothly in, sudden and unexpected and so much better.

Jean clenched around it, ignoring the strain of a position he wasn’t flexible enough to keep. Felt the heavy breaths warming his neck and tilted his chin up for an obvious bid for a kiss.

“God,” Marco’s voice sounded wrecked. He wrapped an arm around Jean’s thigh but kept staring at where his finger sank into him. “Didn’t get a close enough look last time—”

“Stop talking,” Jean demanded. “And I saw you looking before, you _liar_.” Marco wisely chose not to respond, instead pressing a far too gentle kiss to Jean’s lips given that he had a finger up his ass. Jean wrinkled his nose and took the initiative, deepening the kiss impatiently until Marco was shivering with pleasure above him. He made an encouraging noise when he felt a second finger wriggle beside the first… excruciatingly slow.

“Faster,” Jean demanded, breaking the kiss and trying to bear down himself. Marco pressed down on his leg, stopping him. “Marco!”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Marco said, and he was such a liar. He liked to torture him, that’s what this was. He kissed down Jean’s chin and neck, the same soft butterfly kisses he’d introduced before. Jean wriggled, flushing red with embarrassment. He wanted more fingers, not mortifyingly reverent foreplay. “I don’t want to go too fast.”

“I have an ass of _steel_ , Marco, no such thing as going too fast.”

“Hm,” Marco’s lips curved in a little smile. “Then maybe I just like it.”

Good thing for him Jean liked his fingers, else he’d have to kick the guy off the bed for being such a cocktease. And fuck, did his body like him. It loved feeling Marco on top of him and inside him and just _here_ , scent growing strong enough that Jean could tell it was Marco even with his eyes closed and nerves burnt off his skin. It was so much—enough to trick his omega-sense into thinking Marco was fucking him again, despite the dick pressing infuriatingly into his thigh.

The feeling intensified as Marco _finally_ dropped the pretense and fingered him in earnest. He was as good a student as ever, because he found his vaginal entrance like a pro and worked up a rhythm that had Jean gasping. He rubbed encouraging circles on Marco’s nape and breathed as his heat spiraled higher and higher around him.

“Marco,” Jean whined when he couldn’t stand it any more, hoping the other boy took the hint. This seemed to stir Marco awake from his lust-induced gaping, which was good until he took out his fingers and _didn’t_ press his dick into Jean’s willing—very, very willing!—entrance. Instead, Marco leaned down and picked up the dildo.

Jean recoiled. “ _No._ ”

“Jean,” the other boy chided. He pressed kisses along Jean’s thigh, but when he pressed the tip of the dildo to Jean’s entrance, Jean flinched back again. “Jean, I promise it’ll be good.”

“I don’t want that,” Jean said, more upset than he thought he’d be. He already knew that Marco wasn’t ready for another full-on fucking, the guy had _said_ before all this, but his omega-sense didn’t care. Marco had licked his mating gland, taken care of him, was right here right now with his scent cushioning Jean in the scary torrent of his heat. Marco had _fucked him_ before, slotting into him so perfectly the feel and weight of his cock inside him burned forever in his mind and really. Jean’s body knew what was his.

Did the boy think Jean would be happy with _that thing_ instead?

“Fine,” Marco said, voice defeated. Jean looked up hopefully, but the other boy’s expression was only more determined. “If you don’t want this, than we’re done for today.”

Jean’s heart stopped. “No! Marco—that isn’t fair.”

“I told you what I’m comfortable with,” Marco pressed his mouth to Jean’s leg again. It wasn’t a kiss, because Marco kept his mouth there and murmured against Jean’s skin. “And I don’t want to stop. It’ll feel good, I promise—can you do it? For me?”

That was the definition of not fair. Jean wanted to argue, but desperation clawed up his stomach. Something even baser than his omega-sense was demanding he fill that emptiness _right now_ , dildo or not. And Marco was looking at him so trustingly, like he knew Jean would make the right choice—except there really was only one choice. He had Jean cornered. Again.

 “Okay,” he gasped, unhappy but unable to do anything about it. “Okay, fine. Use the damn thing.”

“Oh,” Marco breathed. “You’re so good, Jean. You’re perfect.”

Jean flushed at the praise and accepted Marco’s next kiss. He still flinched when he felt the round head of the dildo press against his entrance, but he didn’t move away when it breached him. It slid in easily enough, unnaturally smooth and cold and not at all what Jean wanted—but it filled him better than the three fingers. He nipped Marco’s lip in protest.

“Hold on,” Marco murmured against his lips. Jean jolted when the other boy angled the dildo and managed to press it to his vaginal entrance. Shit. Jean sucked in a breath when Marco pulled it almost all the way out and rammed it back in. Marco chuckled. “See? I told you it’d feel good.”

“Hmm,” Jean said noncommittally, not wanting to prove Marco right. Not that the little gasps escaping his lips didn’t betray him, but it was the thought that counted. He was already flying high and spiraling higher, feeling Marco pressed everywhere outside and the sure pump of the dildo thrusting inside. Jean gave up and wrapped a hand around his straining dick. He was coming painfully close to the edge but not over it, and he needed all the help he could get. Though running his thumb across his slit and down under the head of his dick wasn’t nearly as interesting to him as the foreign feeling of the dildo moving inside him. It wasn’t as interesting as Marco’s fire-hot cock rubbing against the underside of his thigh, almost in time with the dildo and oh. That was a thought.

It didn’t take much for Jean to imagine the cock leaking wetly against him was what was currently pumping inside him. It helped that he _knew_ what that felt like. Had felt it inside him only a few days ago: hotter and softer and… god, he was gagging for it.

“I—I need you to,” Jean managed to stutter out. He was far past caring about dignity. “Need you to press the switch. Right now.”

“You sure?”

Jean nodded jerkily, though part of him was terrified. The artificial knot was much larger and was situated deeper than the last time Marco had used his fingers to simulate the stretch.

“Okay,” Marco’s voice was shaky. “Hold onto me if it’s too much, alright?”

Jean wanted to snap that it wouldn’t be, he didn’t need to hug Marco like a baby—except Marco hit the switch and _holy fucking crap_. Tears sprung from his eyes as he blindly clutched to Marco, trying to squirm away from the growing intrusion but finding himself stuck fast. He staved off panic with Marco’s familiar scent, letting the other boy cradle him shamelessly. The sting grew unbearable right before it crossed over to being just right, and then.

And then it was like something snapped.

He cried out as the heat burst out of him, released by his orgasm in an uncontrollable flood of hormones that swept Jean away. It was warm and all-encompassing and fulfilled, like Jean was finally whole. He sniffed into the crook of Marco’s neck and rode out the aftershocks as the other boy whispered, “You’re _gorgeous_ , Jean, so good like this”— rocking with both pleasure and relief until finally, it was over.

He panted while listening to the other boy’s heartbeat. It was over.

When Jean finally managed to pry his eyes open, he drew in the first real breath he’d had in a day. _Days_. Marco breathed harshly against him, still warm and close and just because the heat was over didn’t mean Jean didn’t like that. He enjoyed holding the boy for a moment longer than necessary, feeling the rise and fall of the boy’s chest against his own and marveling at how alive they were. Sure, it was cheesy. Jean never claimed not to be cheesy.

Finally, however, his body signaled it was time to move: his leg was a moment away from cramping. Jean ran a hand up Marco’s side and, with a breath, unhooked his leg from his shoulder. His calf spasmed anyway, which was painful but not enough to distract him from the brush of the other boy’s erection.

Marco tensed. “It’s fine, Jean. Let’s sleep.”

“Are you kidding?” Jean was tired but not nearly so exhausted he’d just _ignore_ him. It felt as natural as anything to reach out and stroke up its length.

“Oh,” Marco let out a small gasp even as he jolted back, but not far enough for Jean to let go. He was burning hot and silky smooth as Jean pumped him, and soon enough the brunet shuddered and came onto Jean’s leg. He kept stroking his dick through the orgasm, more out of the desire to keep feeling its weight and heat against his palm than anything else. It might be too soon for Jean to feel aroused, but he still liked it. He especially liked the way Marco’s cheeks and chest flushed red, bringing out his freckles even more. When the boy batted his hand away and turned to hide his face in Jean’s shoulder, he tilted Marco’s chin back towards him.

“Feel good?” Jean kissed him sleepily.

Marco flushed an even deeper red, but seemed to gather himself. “I-I should be asking you that. Are you alright? Is your heat settling down?”

“Better,” Jean agreed, kissing him again. He didn’t know why Marco was wasting time talking when they could be kissing. “I’m fine.”

Now that he wasn’t holding Jean’s leg up, Marco was free to roll beside him. Jean turned onto his side to follow when Marco suddenly interrupted, “Jean, the dildo’s still—”

“Oh.” Jean blinked. It seemed impossible to have forgotten the thing lodged inside him, but he had. “Leave it in for now.”

Confusion flitted across Marco’s face before his expression cleared. “Right. Knots last up to half an hour. Your body probably wants to keep it in until then.”

Marco made to get up, and something visceral tugged in Jean’s chest. He wrapped an arm around the brunet’s shoulders immediately. “Stay.”

Marco furrowed a brow. “After I change the sheets—”

“No,” Jean corrected. “Right now. Until I… take the dildo out. Then we can change the sheets—don’t look at me like that, I’m not going to fall over. I can roll up a piece of cloth.”

“Fine,” Marco sighed and fell back into his arms. Jean held him greedily, something deep within him falling calm when Marco brushed the bangs from his forehead. “Thirty minutes. Don’t fall asleep, Jean. We don’t want trouble taking that thing out of you tomorrow morning.”

Jean burst out laughing. “Can you imagine Harold’s face? The perfect distraction to squirrel Eren away: my ass.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Marco swatted him, voice playful despite the possessive growl beneath it. “Be careful.”

Wrapping his arms more securely around Marco’s neck, Jean nuzzled his chin. “I’ll be fine. You’ll take care of me, right?”

Marco paused before going back to brushing back Jean’s hair. His voice went soft. “I always take care of you.”

This time, Jean was the one that smiled.

 

\--

 

“I always thought I’d be a beta anyways,” Marco said thirty minutes later as they lay on the bed: side-by-side, naked, and significantly more sober than when they’d first started. It seemed like he and Marco were making a disturbing habit of having sex while not in their right minds; Jean would care, except he really didn’t.

What he did appreciate about sobriety was his headache clearing up. He had shamelessly ignored his promise to Marco by yanking the dildo out when it became too annoying, throwing it onto the floor, and curling back into his arms. They hadn’t made a move to change the sheets.

Marco swallowed but didn’t stop scratching his fingers through the short hair above Jean’s neck. “I thought, I’m good at managing people. Keeping tempers in check. Making sure everyone got everything they needed. All these things. Ugh.” He shook his head. “So it was okay. Coming from Jinae doesn’t change a thing.”

Jean was quiet; it’d taken so long to get this out of Marco—not just talk about Jinae, but talk about the effects it had on him personally. He wasn’t about to waste the opportunity by talking over him. But he really, really wanted to say something. Anything. Harold-the-goddamn-government-spy’s words rose unwanted from his mind. _It’s terrifying what human invention can do_.

Marco sighed, quiet and defeated and too morose for how easily he snuggled against Jean. As opposed to pushing him away or doing something more melodramatic, like running out of bed naked and clawing at the window, Marco seemed most comfortable pulling Jean even closer. “But I’m _not_.”

Jean finally interrupted, “Marco....”

“It wasn’t obvious until you presented, Jean. God. Everything changed afterwards, it’s hard to even put it into words. Just that I know—I _know_ —I could have been an al—” Marco swallowed the word and turned away.

“An alpha?” Jean filled in with a soft voice.

Marco twitched. “But I’m going to be a beta anyway.”

Jean knew should keep his mouth shut, but he couldn’t help but ask in the strange silence that followed: “Do you… want to be a beta?”

Marco actually mulled the question over. “I don’t know. In a way, it’d be… easier? I’ve had sixteen years to get used to the idea of being a beta, Jean. I’ve only a few months to suspect I could have been something else, and it’s… scary. But if it meant I could have _you_ …”

He flushed, as if he hadn’t meant to say what he said and now looking terribly self-conscious. Jean honestly couldn’t imagine it. Even dealing with the sudden change of being an omega, he always knew it was a possibility. If he’d thought he was a beta but then discovered, surprise! You were an omega all along! He wouldn’t know how he’d react. Badly, most likely.

The freckled boy bit his lip. “But the damage is already done and I know that. It doesn’t matter. This… doesn’t matter.”

“Oh god,” Jean knew this was serious, but he couldn’t help rolling his eyes. “Stop being such a drama queen.”

Marco turned back and gave him a thoughtful but still pointed glare. Before Jean could say anything scathing, the other boy leaned in and licked him right above his mating gland and swiped up his cheek, and _ugh_. It happened. Marco finally broke. Jean pinched him to try and reawaken his sanity. “Stop that!”

“No.” When Jean lifted his hand to swat Marco’s stupid face away by force, the other boy just turned his head and licked Jean’s palm instead. “Would you really be okay if I’m a beta, Jean? It’s easy to say now without any of the alphas presented, but what happens a few months down the road?”

“Are you suggesting I’ll just up and abandon you for some random knothead?” Jean squirmed and freed his hand. He wiped it off on Marco’s hair as punishment for being a creepy weirdo who does creepy weird things. “Look, I’m not saying I know for sure what’s going to happen. It’s—well, it’s true betas and omegas have a harder time, but it’s not unheard of. Look at that August guy. He and that other bandit were tight.”

“I’m not sure they’re the best example of a beta-omega couple,” Marco said dryly.

“So? He was a dick, but he was still an omega. Got the crap beaten out of him for trying to stay with his mate. Anyway, what I meant was…” Jean frowned, frustrated at his failure to find the right words in his post-coital haze. “It’s not all instincts, you know? I’m not lying right here right now because you’re, I dunno, convenient. It’d be easier to get Eren into bed.”

Marco eyes bore a hole into Jean’s soul. Happiness slowly bloomed on his face like the rising sun, so much so Jean began to squirm under how… how bright he looked. God, this was embarrassing. Goopy, romance novel shit was not his forte.

He buried his face into Marco’s shoulder and thought the matter was closed, until Marco ran a hand down his side and chuckled when Jean shivered against him.

“Say it clearly, Jean,” Marco teased. He ran his hand up his side with an even lighter touch, obviously not willing to let Jean sleep for fear of tickling.

Flushing red, Jean bit out, “You obviously know what I mean!”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“This is emotional manipulation,” Jean hissed. “You just want to embarrass me.”

“What if I told you I need you to say it?” Marco said. “To help settle my self-doubts and strengthen our relationship?”

“Oh, so we’re officially in a relationship, are we? I almost thought you’d forgotten.”

“I will if you don’t say it.”

“I can totally rip holes through your terms,” Jean informed him. “Like run out right now and make out with—with Mylius or something, and it’d be okay because I didn’t say it. We’re not together. You can’t tell me what to do.”

“No,” Marco said shortly. After a long enough time passed, Jean realized that’s all he was going to say in response. He tapped a finger against Marco’s lip, irritated. When the other boy abruptly broke his poker face and began laughing, Jean decided he’d had enough of this nonsense. Marco was such a little shit. He scowled and pushed the still chuckling boy onto his back, crawling to settle on top of him so that they were face-to-face.

Marco’s laughter eventually died down, leaving them in a comfortable silence. Marco had a lot of freckles. That wasn’t anything new, but Jean liked taking the time to count the ones spattered across his nose and cheek. They trailed down his neck, too, but it would be impossible for him to count those as well, so Jean was going to stick to his face, thanks.

With a gentleness Jean didn’t even know he had, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Marco’s stupid, freckled nose.

“If you’re an alpha, great. If you’re a beta, great. I don’t care. I know you do, and—and it’s okay, you can take your time. I’m not going anywhere,” he said, voice soft. He _meant_ it. With the gravity of a death sentence, he said, “I love you.”

Marco’s face broke out into a large grin. “I know.”

Jean smacked his side. “Then why’d you make me say it!”

“I wanted to hear it.”

“I hate you,” Jean tried to climb off, face burning so hot he was surprised it didn’t just melt off. Marco wrapped his arms around his lower back and tugged him back into a hug. “I changed my mind. Maybe I’ll go make out with Mylius after all.”

“You hate Mylius. Also, as per agreement, we’re together now,” Marco laughed when Jean squirmed enough to topple them over onto their sides. “You said it.”

“Under duress,” Jean said loudly, but couldn’t help but grin when Marco leaned forward and kissed him.

They were so embarrassingly mushy. Whatever. Cupping the back of Marco’s head, Jean closed his eyes and deepened the kiss. Right here, right now, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

\--

 

“Tell me you’ve gotten all you needed,” Ymir muttered from the cot. She’d begun trembling with fever an hour ago, and was gritting her teeth with determination to keep ifrom falling apart altogether. “’Cause I’m gonna lose it soon and it’s not going to be pretty.”

“You know,” Hanji hummed, tapping her chin. She carefully placed Ymir's blood samples beside Eren's and shut the box. “I can’t help but feel you already know what I’m supposed to be looking for.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ymir laughed. “Seriously. But if it's between them and you, you're obviously the better choice. You don't even want to know what they'd do to us."

“What do you mean ‘us,’” Hanji frowned down at the girl.

Ymir raised her brow. “Maybe you should run your tests. Compare it to some other results you got on file, see what they have in common.”

“Why don’t you just—”

The door suddenly slammed open, startling both women. Annie Leonhardt stumbled in, one hand pressed to the door frame and the other clenching a knife. Even in the dim lantern light, they could see the beads of sweat dripping down her face.

“Corporal,” she managed in an impressively calm voice. Upon second glance, the knife looked like it was dripping. “It’s happening tonight. They’re going to move us out right now, and you can’t let them take Reiner and Bertholdt. Please…”

Eren, Reiner, Bertholdt, Ymir and now Annie, too. All Wall Maria kids. All orphans. How Annie had known to come to Hanji, she didn't know, but that wasn't the point.

“Where are they now?” Hanji’s voice was sharp.

“At the infirmary,” the girl said. She threw the knife onto the floor and slid down against the nearest wall. “Hurry.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Hanji hissed and ran to her temporary desk for a pen and paper. “Fuck it all, Erwin said they’d wait a few days, we’re not _ready_ —”

“I think she’s going to throw up,” Ymir pointed out, and Hanji turned just in time to see Annie bend over and do just that. “Yuck.”

“Can either of you get up?” Hanji demanded and scowled when both girls shook their heads. “Fine. We’ll need to get Marco and Jean—where are they?”

“I dunno,” Ymir snorted. “Probably fucking around somewhere.”

“I’m locking the doors,” Hanji said. She pulled out two handguns from the drawer and tossed them at the girls. “For defense, in case they find out you’re here. Please don't get yourself captured while I get the boys.”

Ymir gave her a thumbs up. After a hesitant moment wondering how this was her life, Hanji picked up the vials, her gear and some other supplies before slipping out the door.

Then, she _ran_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG FINALLY MARCO GETS HIS HEAD OUT OF HIS ASS


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We don’t have the backup needed,” Hanji shook her head. “We’ll have to extract them before it’s too late. Kirstein, can you get up?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry for the late update everyone... I spent all last week and weekend getting ready for Boston Comic Con, and the show was a complete and utter disaster from beginning to end. And this such a plot-heavy chapter I needed space to actually sit down and write!
> 
> Anyway, as most people guessed after last chapter... shit's going to hit the fan in a big way.
> 
> Also, I'm sorry for just playing with canon like this. I tried thinking of the Reiss's closest followers and... this is what I came up with. I don't know why Hanji recognizes him??? HMM
> 
> edit: Went back in and added a brief flashback from Jean's POV; hopefully this helps pace all the angst better!

15.

Eren heard them coming.

He’d startled awake at the soft sounds of their approach, like his subconscious had been purposely on the look-out after Jean’s explanation. Except the other omega had implied that they’d have time to plan; he hadn’t said anything about them coming tonight.

“Bert,” he hissed. He climbed as quietly out of his cot as possible and crept to the neighboring one, gently shaking the other omega’s shoulder. The boy moaned and turned away, his brow still warm with fever. Reiner wasn’t in any better shape, and Eren wasn’t about to try and wake him. Out-of-control alpha in a false rut? No thanks.

“Shit,” Eren hissed to himself, glancing around. He didn’t even have his weapons, his gear, and while the infirmary did have some knives stashed in self-defense, they weren’t in this room. “Shit, _shit_.”

“We’re not ready,” a reedy voice whined from just outside the door. The handle began to turn, and Eren had a split second to make his decision.

The door creaked open, and three dark figures stepped into the room.

“The transfer points haven’t even been set up, and we have minimal reinforcements. This is a fool’s errand, and if Sebastian heard…” the short, balding man continued, to no avail.

“Shut up and do your job, Tchuberg,” the familiar silhouette of Sergeant Adelaide snapped at him. She pushed him unceremoniously towards the sickened trainees and began rummaging through the cabinets.

Tchuberg adjusted his cravat as he reluctantly approached Reiner and Bertholdt. He placed a hand on Reiner’s cheek and waved his other one in front of his eyes, just to confirm his incapacitation. He glanced down at Reiner’s chart and went to a carefully-marked cabinet to retrieve his fluid samples.

“Could’ve just shipped these,” Tchuberg muttered. “But no, Sebastian wants them in person. Honestly, he never had Frederick doing grunt work like this…”

“Hurry up,” Adelaide snapped. She’d found what she was looking for and set the box down on the counter. Sedatives, just in case. “We’ve been compromised. Reiss wants us to move the shifters as quickly to the Sina Compound as possible. Go find that blasted Harold; we need to get them doped up fast.”

“I’m not a soldier, Adelaide!” Tchuberg complained hotly. “I’m not going to be able to fight. You go!”

“Insolent little man,” she hissed at him.

“Why you—” Tchuberg’s face reddened with anger. “I’m the leader of the operation, don’t you forget—”

“Hey, dumbasses,” the third figure finally spoke up. He loped around the cots and spread his arms in a near-mocking, do-you-see-what-I-see gesture. “Didn’t Harold say there were three of ‘em?”

The other two alphas paused. They turned back to the beds in tandem, and sure enough, only two of the five beds were occupied. The third, Eren’s, had clearly been vacated within the last few minutes.

“How the _hell_ did one get away?” Adelaide snapped. “That formula was near-strong enough to affect humans…”

“Spread out and search for it,” the tall man overrode her. “We’re on a timer, folks.”

“You don’t order me around, Kenny,” Sergeant Adelaide said hotly—and then took a step back when he drew a gun and pressed its barrel to her throat.

“You’re not indispensable, munchkin,” the man drawled, grinning slightly. “So how ‘bout you be a darling and just do what you’re told?”

A tense moment passed between them, until Adelaide finally lowered her head in agreement.

“Bunch of vagabonds and murderers,” Tchuberg moaned to himself, sweating and grumbling and generally being useless. The others, clearly military-trained, checked under the beds, behind closed doors, inside closets. Room cleared, they strode out into the hall to search the rest of the building.

Tchuberg, on the other hand, stayed behind. He began rummaging around the room, picking up and putting down a variety of chemicals. A scientist, then, but not a medic.

“Why did Sebastian assign me to this,” he said, finding a clean cloth and wiping his face with it. “Should’ve come here himself, leave me out of it. Like I’m of any use in the field…”

He approached the beds again, this time towards Bertholdt’s cot.

Which was when Eren slid out of where he’d been hiding under the covers beside the large omega, and cracked a spare gas canister right over the man’s head.

Tchuberg went down like a sack of bricks. Breathing heavily, Eren cast a glance at the door to see if the others had heard the commotion. When no one came running in, guns blazing, he scrambled for the box of sedatives Sergeant Adelaide had left on the counter. Sedatives that Marco had replaced, hadn’t he, with weaker versions?

But a sedative was a sedative, and in this case, a weapon. He upended cabinets and spilled medical supplies across the floor. Searched the boxes on the counter until he found a syringe—which was when he heard the telltale sounds of someone making their way back towards the room.

God-fucking-dammit.

“Tchuberg—” Adelaide strolled in, peeved but otherwise just as intimidating as ever. She froze upon seeing the man’s slumped form and whirled around— just in time to see Eren lunge at her, syringe in hand.

“Fuck! Kenny, he's here!” she yelled out right before they fell into a struggling heap on the floor. Eren stabbed down recklessly, wildly, because despite having surprise on his side, he was still sick. Which explained why, when he stabbed at her neck in pure rage, she was able to so easily yank him back by the wrist. They were caught in a temporary standstill: Eren putting all his weight down onto his captured wrist, and Adelaide pressing her strength up to keep the syringe from sinking into her neck.

A drop of sedative beaded at its tip and fell onto her skin. Eren’s fierce eyes glinted gold.

And then he stopped pushing. The alpha woman stumbled forward at the sudden lack of resistance, and Eren took the opening wrap a vicious hand around her head. He yanked her head back and raised his fist, syringe in hand—

Eren gagged. The syringe fell uselessly to the ground as he scrabbled at the unrelenting forearm cutting off his airway. His attacker lifted him up into the air in a dizzying strangehold, grinning as Eren flailed. It was just a stream of desperate sensation. Feet kicking in the air and hands starting to slacken. Vision blurring, drool dribbling down his chin, and then…

“Enough! Reiss wants them alive, you psycho,” Adelaide climbed onto her feet and smacked Eren’s attacker on the arm. The lanky ‘Kenny’ relented and dropped his quarry unceremoniously onto the floor. Eren fell heaving to the ground, one hand clutching his bruised throat and the other weakly scrabbling for the dropped syringe.

Adelaide slammed her foot onto his hand. Eren let out a pained shout and immediately gritted his teeth. No weakness, even if his entire body felt wrangled. The alpha woman sneered down at him in disgust, rubbing the wounds on her face where Eren had broken skin. “He must’ve been hiding in this room all along, the tricky bitch. Oh, and Tchuberg’s out, but who the hell cares?”

“I don’t, not personally,” Kenny shrugged. He frowned at Reiner and Bertholdt’s massive frames and said, “But it’s gonna be a problem moving all three of ‘em with just the two of us.”

“Two?” Adelaide said.

“Found Harold,” Kenny sighed. He gestured at the door, where he’d dragged the alpha orderly’s corpse from down the hall. Eren felt a chill run through him. He’d seen dead bodies before, of course, had even killed before; but honestly, the vicious way the man was cut-up made everything seem more real. “Someone got to him in the hall. Nasty stuff.”

Who else was here? Neither Jean nor Marco were that vicious, and he wasn't sure if the other Naturalists would just gut a potential interrogation source. But if there was someone else skulking about this mess... god, Eren didn't know what was happening anymore.

“Then we really are compromised,” Adelaide snapped, clearly unhappy. “Come on, tie that one up. We need to move _now_.”

“Lemme go,” Eren rasped, fighting weakly as the other man grabbed his wrists and began tying them together. “No…”

“Feisty little monster, aren’t you?” Kenny gave him a malicious smile. He scooped up the rest of the boxed sedative and prepared a new syringe. Waved it in Eren’s face just to watch the fear and anger rise in the omega’s large green eyes. “I do like that once in a while, but you’ve lost this round. Time to go nighty-night.”

“No,” Eren whined, and squeezed his eyes shut at the sharp prick at his inner arm. The pain brought back strange feelings of dread, fear, disgust; feelings of loss and horror, and Eren would have screamed if the world didn’t suddenly, cruelly fade to black.

It brought back a memory of a secret, and that was almost worse than anything he’d experienced in the last few days.

“ _No_.”

 

\--

 

Hanji was used to a lack of propriety in the Survey Corps; there wasn’t a point, really, when anyone could become Titan Chow at any moment. She’d walked in on their golden couple often enough—and had gotten several concussions from the books Levi threw at her, that bitch—and so she had no qualms breaking down the door to the isolation room.

“Bodt! Kirstein!” she shouted, hooking her lantern by the door and rapping the doorframe. Marco startled awake immediately, pulling Jean under him and blinking wide-eyed at this woman shouting at him. “They’re moving them right now, come on!”

Marco’s confusion dissipated in a heartbeat. He disentangled himself from the omega still curled up on the bed and, with only a bit of embarrassed hesitation, went to find his clothes.

“They’re early,” he said, pulling on his pants and shirt. “Are we still following them?”

“We don’t have the backup needed,” Hanji shook her head. “We’ll have to extract them before it’s too late. Kirstein, can you get up?”

“Corporal Hanji?” Jean blinked blearily up at the other two. To be honest, the poor boy looked like he’d been run over by a stampede of horses. The heat had taken far more out of him than Hanji had hoped, which was an utter disgrace given the boy’s incredible usefulness as a flier.

“You look like shit,” she told him flatly before Marco could open his mouth. There was no time for subordination, just orders and completed tasks. “I’m taking Marco to go rescue Jaeger and the other two Maria kids. You head to the office—two other affected trainees are locked up there, and they’ll need a guard just in case. Bodt, tell me you have a gun.”

“There’s one in that cabinet,” Jean sat up and visibly tried to gather his wits. Marco didn’t question how he knew; just yanked open the cabinet in question and pulled out the sleek handgun inside. “In case unwanted alphas come by.”

“Fancy,” Hanji commented and jerked her chin at the door. Marco took a step towards the exit and then paused. He turned back towards Jean and whispered. something into the boy’s ear. The omega flushed and pushed him away.

“Say the same to you,” she heard him mutter, “Go.”

“Corporal,” Marco caught up to her outside the room. “What’s the plan?”

She smirked at him.

“We,” Hanji said, “are going to think like bandits.”

 

\--

 

Eren blinked awake under something damp and scratchy. After a brief moment of panic, he realized the strange shapes obscuring his vision and tickling his nose was just damp straw. Musty, old straw covering him and the others in the back of what he suspected was a wagon, though they hadn’t started moving just yet. Breathe. Don’t fall into fear. Remember Mikasa and fighting for life—he took a shuddering breaeth. Exhaled.

Then, he assessed the situation. From scent alone, he could tell that Reiner was tied up on his left and Bertholdt on his right. The pair of government spies had secured his wrists and ankles, though hadn’t bothered gagging his mouth. Still, he had no plans to alert them that Marco’s plan succeeded: he was awake far earlier than expected.

Eren turned his head slightly. He couldn’t see past the straw, but he could hear the two government agents preparing to depart.

Rage flooded his veins. How dare these assholes just barge in here and get in the way of him slaughtering titans? Didn’t they care about humanity? The sheer indignity of it all had him snarling. It was enough of an energy boost to keep him distracted from his immediate problem: that, despite being awake, Eren had no obvious way of freeing himself.

He wriggled again. Tested his bonds a second time and found them as frustratingly secure as they were a moment ago.

“They’ve opened a path for you through the southern entrance,” he heard Adelaide tell her co-conspirator “I’ll only accompany you up to that point, and then I’ll have to head back to Karanese.”

“Nothing ever happens in Karanese,” Kenny snorted. “Oh wait…”

“Focus on the mission,” she snapped.

“Tsk, tsk, Adelaide. Letting those devious little bandits steal your Reiss-family seal,” the man’s voice was cruel and teasing. “You really think you can make it up to them with this heist?”

“I swear to god, Ackerman,” she breathed, and Eren blinked. Ackerman? Like Mikasa Ackerman?

He shook his head. No time to think of that now. Later.

His heart thumped when, after a tongue-click and a short whinny, the wagon began lurch forward. Slow and rocky at first, and then quickly gaining traction. And there Eren was, trussed up and helpless like a turkey as his kidnappers took him farther and farther away from camp. All he could do was try and count time and extrapolate how far they were, not that that mattered. Armin was going to freak. _Mikasa_ was going to freak, and Eren had spent enough time with the girl to have developed a proper fear for freak-out Mikasa.

And then something snagged onto the wagon and _yanked_.

“Fuck!” Adelaide’s voice rang out just as something broke off with a splintering crack. Eren barely kept himself from shouting as they tipped precariously towards the upper left. There was an awful screeching sound of polished wood skidding on rock, and then another yank and snap. The wagon tipped forward entirely, skidding on its empty front spokes as if in danger of flipping.

The sudden jerking threw Eren and the two others down towards the driver’s cabin. He crashed face-first into the thin wood separator, and spat out a mouthful of splinters. Thankfully, the two agents were too busy scrambling to their feet to notice.

“Fuck, fuck,” Adelaide shouted when Reiner’s thick frame crashed into her back. She shoved him gracelessly off and drew out her pistol. “How many are there?”

“Honestly?” Kenny, who looked remarkably calm, leaned back in his seat. “No more than two, maybe. Tell me, you got good aim, sweetheart?”

“Keep asking that, and I’ll let you know personally,” she snarled. She wriggled halfway out of the semi-collapsed window and fired off two shots into the distance. She jerked back when answering bullets ricocheted off the thin metal coating of the wagon and whirled on the still-lounging man beside her. “Do your job, you ass!”

“Amateur,” the lanky man sighed, and crawled out the opposite wagon window and onto the half-battered roof. Eren heard rather than saw the man shifting around before detaching something from the top. Kenny hopped off and shook his new contraption out into a miniature pull-wagon.

“What are you doing?” Adelaide screamed at him.

“My job,” he said. “Delivering the targets to Reiss, like we were told.”

“Useless,” she fired another shot, “selfish,” another one, “asshole!”

And then she yelped and clutched her arm where an enemy bullet had shot true, blood already staining her blouse. She took cover behind the main body of the wagon and hissed as flying shrapnel tore at her skin. Eren’s gaze flickered to the sharp ends of shattered bullets littered about the driver’s cabin. If only he could get closer…

“Stay here and keep distracting them,” Kenny ordered. He began the draining task of lugging the closest trainees, Reiner and Bertholdt, through the open window and into the smaller wagon. It gave Eren time enough to think. When Kenny finally grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him out, the omega boy discreetly snagged the biggest piece of shrapnel he could find. He clutched the piece in his fist, hard enough he could feel it cutting into his palm. Hard enough that he felt blood pooling through his fingers, until he felt indignantly alive.

As Kenny directed a transferred horse to start pulling the smaller wagon, Eren slowly began to work the metal against the rope. If he was lucky, whoever was firing at the government agents—please be Marco and not another hostile group, Eren had had enough of those, thanks—would rescue him before he untied himself. But honestly, relying on someone else’s rescue wasn’t his style.

He was going to cut his way out and then he was going to pummel these alphas faces in. Eren didn’t appreciate being used as a pawn here, not when it felt so eerily familiar.

“Kenny!” Adelaide poked her face out of the window. Her face was pale, perhaps from the blood loss. “Kenny, did you—”

And then the world exploded.

 

\--

 

“Marco!” Hanji cried out in horror, watching the wagon suddenly burst into shattering flame. The impact threw the tinier wagon into the air, flinging the limp bodies of the kidnapped trainees every which way.

“I’ll go after him,” the boy had shouted once they spotted Kenny Ackerman escaping with the captives. He dropped his empty handgun in favor for his blades and turned back towards her for confirmation. “Eren’s awake, and if I can free him…”

“Go,” she shouted, and took cover behind a boulder as the good Sergeant fired at her in rage. Marco had shot a line out, bold and precise, and Hanji could already see what kind of strong alpha he’d grow into. The kind fit to lead a team—if he survived for that long.

As if the universe was mocking her, Marco’s second swing pulled him right over the battered wagon lying on its side.

Which was when the entire contraption exploded.

Hanji staggered onto her feet, cursing under her breath. The area around the ignition point was engulfed in high, merciless flames. She couldn’t see the other Naturalist anywhere—not even the telltale signs of his metal anchors or the glint of his blade.

She could, however, spot the sizzling corpse that was once Sergeant Adelaide. It lay slumped against the flickering frame of the once-wagon, and Hanji fought the urge to hurl. This wasn’t the Titan-on-human violence she was used to. This was something much darker and human.

“Shit,” she hissed. “Shit, fuck. What the hell just happened?”

She threw out her anchors and swung over the crackling flames. Bits of smoking wood and metal lay everywhere. A fire was starting to brew in the broken pines nearby, but Hanji didn’t have time to address that problem now. They’d brought the battle close to the cliff face overlooking the camp, and Hanji thanked God that she’d listened to Marco’s advice about not getting _too_ close.

An explosion like that would’ve sent Eren and the others flying off the cliff entirely if they’d just been a little closer.

She spotted Kenny right away. His struggling silhouette stood out stark black against the orange, and from the red staining his legs he’d been hurt. Before he could gather his wits, she chucked a titan blade right through his hand and pinned it to a nearby tree.

“Oof,” he laughed, clearly surprised but not off his game. He twisted his head to better see Hanji leaping onto the branch above him. “Tough one, aren’t ya? Sorry girl, but this ain’t nearly enough to hold me back.”

“What did you want with those trainees?” Hanji shouted. He laughed. “Answer me!”

“Well, I wouldn’t call them _trainees_ , exactly,” he finally said. And then he grabbed the blade hilt with his free hand and yanked it right out of the tree with a gut-turning _shuck_. Shook out his freed palm like it’d been scuffed, not gutted right through. “Shoulda let us take ‘em off your hands, sweet. It’s for the good of humanity to get rid of those monsters.”

“Ackerman!” Hanji hollered, but the man paid her no mind.

“Hope you don’t mind that I’m keeping this,” he waved the sword. “Seeing as I ain’t got the manpower to carry these three the rest of the way. Funny how things work out, huh?” his expression sobered. “Though honest, I’m kinda impressed. When’dja get time to plant a bomb on us, hm?”

Hanji just narrowed her eyes at him, poker face clearly in place. They hadn’t planted that bomb, but it’d only hurt their position if Kenny learned that. Still, her internal detective was spinning in circles, because the list of people who could’ve sabotaged the wagon… well. None of her answers meant anything good.

She scowled at Kenny began to shuffle off. Capture Kenny or search for Marco. Time only allowed her one action, and so she allowed Kenny to limp away. Coughing into her sleeve, she landed onto the ground in a crouch and began the excruciating search through the wreckage.

“Bodt!” she crawled through the flames, shielding her face when the heat became too much. “Hey! Save me the trouble and call out if you’re still alive!”

“Corporal,” a voice said weakly from the distance. Hanji whirled at the noise, and climbed over ruined slats and shattered rocks in search for its owner. She swung her way over the last few steps and found Eren lying under a bloody board.

“Corporal, help,” he gritted out, and Hanji immediately hacked the board with her remaining blade. She ripped it off of him once it sufficiently splintered, and found the boy battered and bruised but otherwise alive. Thank god, at least one thing went right. She took a knife out of her belt and cut him loose.

“Bodt went to rescue you,” she said, voice low and urgent as Eren rubbed his wrists. “He got caught up in the explosion—”

“I know,” Eren coughed. He rubbed his wrists and squeezed his eyes shut. “I was—I was going to say he’s here.” He pointed upwards, and Hanji spent a moment just staring at him.

Because the board was bloody, except Eren had been _under the board_.

She slowly followed the finger’s trajectory and looked up.

And there, like something out of a horror story, Marco lay limply between the tree branches. He’d clearly been knocked back in the blast with enough force to tangle his limbs in the branches; perhaps break his limbs too, because his left leg seemed to be bent at a strange angle. Not that she could see much through the blood.

His entire left side was a horrifying red, and while she couldn’t see the exact extent of the damage, she could tell it was bad.

She swallowed and put a hand on Eren’s shoulder. “Get Reiner and Bertholdt and untie them. I’ll… I’ll get Marco.”

She handed him the knife and then drew out her anchors. Taking a deep breath, she shot a line up to a neighboring branch and landed carefully within reach of the boy. She placed a hand on his relatively unmarred right wrist. “…Marco?”

For a moment, she thought he was dead.

And then, finally, the cadet took in a shuddery breath. Relief bled through Hanji’s chest, but she soon forced herself to sober. The damage was still devastating, and time was clearly of the essence. If they didn’t move Marco soon, who knows how much worse his condition would get.

Except they were god-knows how far from camp, with only one truly functional soldier and 3-D maneuvering gear between them. Fuck.

“C-corporal,” Marco rasped, and winced when his attempt to turn towards her caused him to shudder in pain. “It—I can’t get down.”

“I’m going to help,” she assured him. “Just—look at me, okay. Don’t look away.”

Bracing herself, she reached out and freed the closest limb from the splintering remains of a branch. Marco _screamed_.

It was horrible.

By the time she managed to untangle him from the tree, the poor boy had passed out from the pain. Eren sat pale-faced at the tree’s base, a slowly stirring Reiner and Bertholdt beside him.

“They said they wanted to bring us to a compound within Wall Sina,” he told Hanji in a stiff tone. He kept staring at Marco in her arms, looking scared and lost, and Hanji remembered that these were his friends. His pack. Members of the same training squad never lost their bonds entirely, not even years later, because suffering through so much meant a closer connection.

And from what Hanji could gather from watching over these cadets for a day, Marco Bodt was a damn important member of this pack. They’d greatly suffer without him.

Eren sniffed and wiped his face. “And they kept mentioning ‘Reiss’ over and over. Reiss wants to gather us shifters. What the hell is a shifter?”

“Kenny mentioned something about,” and here she hesitated, because Eren was one of them, wasn’t he? “He said the affected trainees weren’t ‘trainees’… that they were monsters.”

Eren paled. “M-monsters?”

As if on cue, a loud roar shook the air. It reverberated off of the mountain cliffs, the trees, so visceral and heart-stoppingly familiar that Eren sat up with wide green eyes blown wide.

“Titan,” he gasped. Which was impossible, except Hanji recognized that cry too. She turned to look over the cliff she saw it.

A macabre blond titan was screeching in the distance: a fifteen-meter beast with _breasts_. Hanji would have been fascinated at this singular presentation of sex-specific traits if she wasn’t busy wondering _how a_ _titan got through the wall._

Eren snarled, eyes flashing gold, as they watched the beast thrash and figh and pour out steam. It staggered onto a knee and threw out a desperate hand, but even from this distance Hanji could tell it was losing its battle. It screeched again, a bone-shattering wail—and then it vanished.

Eren regained his voice.

“That’s the camp,” he shouted, his entire body thrumming with tense energy. “Hanji, that Titan was at the camp!”

 _That’s where my friends are_ , she knew he wanted to say. He looked a second from jumping off the cliff to rescue them, even though it was too late now if any of them had been swallowed into the titan’s monstrous gut. But there’d been something… almost intelligent in the way it fought.

Hanji frowned. Titan bodies always disappeared after their nape was cut, but something about this didn’t feel right.

Everything about this didn’t feel right.

“Bomb in the wagon, titan at the camp,” she smiled mirthlessly to herself. “Oh yes, someone’s been planning trouble without telling the rest of the team.”

“We have to go back,” Eren said with finality.

Hanji turned sharply and gave the boy a look. She waved a hand around the wreckage. “How? Both wagons are broken. The horses have fled. We’d have to go on foot, but I don’t think these three will last that long.”

“You have to get Marco back, at least,” Eren insisted. “He’s the most injured, and you’ve got functioning 3-D gear, don’t you?”

True. She crossed her arms and let her mind whir. Finally, she said, “Eren, you should take Marco back down to camp with my gear. I’ll stay here with Reiner and Bertholdt. The reinforcements that were supposed to come rescue you guys are already on their way; with any luck, they’ll cross this section soon and I can hitch a ride with them instead. No,” she put a hand up before he could protest. “They know me. They trust me. If you stay without me here, they’re more likely to keep you prisoner than take you back to camp.”

“But…” Eren blinked down at his two groaning friends on the floor. The sedative had definitely worn off by now, but whatever had made them sick to begin with was still hitting the alpha-and-omega-pair hard.

“Every moment you waste is a moment this boy can’t afford,” Hanji hissed, and handed the injured Marco to a surprised Eren. “Now _go_.”

 

\--

 

The camp was chaos.

“Oh my god,” he heard more than a few trainees gasp at the still-bleeding Marco in his arms. “What _happened_ , is that _Marco_?”

The infirmary was flooded with trainees, most of who had become collateral from the titan’s rampage. These were his friends and teammates, but Eren didn’t care. He shoved his way to the front of the line because no matter how bad the other’s looked, Marco needed treatment _now_.

“We’re understaffed,” one of the beta orderlies apologized once she finally, _finally_ managed to get the boy in a cot and attached to a drip. “H-Harold took care of a lot of the medicine-portion, and with him gone…”

Unsurprisingly, Eren felt no sympathy for Harold.

“Can you fix him?” he asked her bluntly. Marco was awfully still.

She gave him a pitying look. “I… don’t know.”

Eren squeezed his eyes shut. “Look, it’s probably better for me to tell him sooner rather than later. Where’s Jean?”

The orderly paused. “Jean?”

“Jean Kirstein?” Eren tried making his eyes look smaller. “Undercut blond hair, a kind of pinched-looking face? Possible relation to a horse?”

“No, I know who Jean Kirstein is,” the orderly said, looking awkward. “You mean you don’t know what happened?”

“I just carried this guy down a mountain the last few hours, I have no idea what happened,” Eren snapped reflexively despite his blood running cold. “What happened to Jean?”

“I think it’s better to show you,” she tapped an instructor and relayed something to him. He made a face but obliged, beckoning Eren to follow. He did, and soon they were coming to the most damaged building at camp.

The instructors' office building.

It was an almost mirror to the wagon: burnt, crushed logs littered the floor, like something had exploded out from the inside. Large chunks of roof crumpled onto the ground demonstrated exactly how powerful a titan’s step was.

Eren felt a shudder go through him. This reminded him of Maria. This entire day reminded him far too much of Maria.

“It’s strange, but we think the titan came from inside here, not from the outside,” the older soldier mused, leading Eren through the worst of the inner debris. Half-burnt books lay scattered across the floor, some even half-melted to the surrounding rock. “I mean, no one saw a huge titan just walk up and stomp on the building, you know? It came out of nowhere. Just—bang! Exploding roof and wood and plaster, and a dozen trainees getting caught in the crossfire. That Titan destroyed everything inside. Thank god it was mostly empty, although…”

“What?” Eren swallowed.

“We don’t—we don’t know if the Titan ate them or what,” the soldier said. “There were three trainees inside the building that have gone missing: Ymir, Annie Leonhardt, and Jean Kirstein.”

“W-What?” he repeated, because he could’ve sworn he heard…

“There's plenty of blood but no bodies,” the soldier said, looking sympathetic. “There wouldn’t have been anything left if they’d been swallowed whole.”

Eren opened his mouth. Closed it.

Jean was missing. Jean was possibly eaten by a titan? No. Eren couldn’t believe it, if only because Jean was too much of a tenacious asshole to just die so easily. Like he’d give Eren the satisfaction of disappearing from his life.

“Eren?” he heard a tentative but familiar voice call out from behind him. He turned and saw Armin and Mikasa running towards him, and involuntary tears welled up in his eyes. Everything hitting him at once, frustrating and indecipherable and just awful, because why did these kinds of things pass in waves? Jean missing and Marco injured and Reiner and Bertholdt held up who knows where and at the mercy of who knows what. It wasn’t _fair._

“You’re okay,” Armin finished squeezing the life out of him and patted his hair with frantic hands. Mikasa made angry, disapproving faces at his cuts and bruises, and all Eren wanted to do was to draw them close and fall into their arms. “You’re okay, Eren, you’re okay.”

“I’m the only one okay,” Eren whispered, like he was admitting a secret. Because what were the odds that of all the casualties suffered in these last few hours, it was Eren who scraped by with the least damage?

What were the odds that Eren could throw off the poison in the first place?

Not very likely.

It filled him with a sense of growing dread, because life didn’t work like that. It was cruel and bloody and random, and nothing happened without a reason.

Mikasa put an arm around him and he slumped against her with exhaustion.

No. He couldn’t think about that now.

Now—now, all Eren wanted to do was sleep for a thousand years.

 

\--

 

Jean remembered being startled awake by the sudden, chilling emptiness beside him; cracking his eyes open to see Marco's surprisingly strong back dipping down from the bed while hunting for clothes; and the tight-lipped expression Corporal Hanji Zoe wore while baldly watching from the doorway.

They were coming for Eren and Bertholdt and Reiner tonight, and none of them were ready.

He would have insisted he come along, except the moment he tried stretching he realized he could barely move his limbs. He could only watch, scowling, as Marco tucked his collar and glanced back at Jean.

"Jean," the boy whispered, walking towards him and pressing his mouth to his ear. He was close and warm and smelled good, and Jean had the immature urge to ask him to stay. Fuck Eren and government conspiracies and whatever the hell was going on. Stay with Jean here, where it was safe, or even at the instructor's offices where the other affected trainees were holed up. "Jean, be careful. They've no qualms about using violence, and if they're after the trainees in the offices too..."

"Say the same to you," Jean hissed, embarrassed but also touched. "Go."

And then he'd had to force himself to sit still while watching his—his Marco, alpha, mate?—hurry out the door after the corporal. Had to breathe for a few steady moments before getting up himself and pulling on his clothes. No time to wallow in misery. He'd been ordered to guard some of his colleagues in a building. It wasn't a hard job; even post-heat, Jean was sure he could complete the task.

 

\--

 

Jean sputtered awake at the splash of ice-cold water on his face.

“You know, you don’t look much like Frederick,” an unfamiliar voice mused. Jean blinked rapidly. Panic. Confusion. His heart beating erratic and scared, because the last thing he remembered was utter terror. Finding themselves under attack, glinting silver rings inexplicably holding guns to their heads—

And then large slabs of exposed flesh. A gargantuan that finally put an image to the words that had been drilled into his head.

 _Titan_.

Someone yanked his hair back and cracked his head against the wall behind him. Pain. Jean blinked past the spots in his eyes and tried to focus, a task that suddenly seemed impossible. Everything seemed a bit too fuzzy, a bit too disorienting, and Jean realized he was probably drugged.

The face in front of him had four shifting, blurring eyes.

Yeah, definitely drugged.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been incredibly rude,” the man in front of him bowed. He appeared middle-aged with a streak of white running through his hair, and he had the strange, slick presence of a particularly skilled salesman. “I’m Janus. I’m sure you’ve heard of me from my subordinates, yes?”

Yeah, Victor McCreepface. August. Even Marco, originally, before he’d decided to take Hanji’s side after August almost _poisoned him to death_.

 _Janus wants you_ , Hanji had said a few times. At the cost of the overall Naturalist mission; at the cost of Marco…

And now, he had him.

“What,” Jean managed to slur out, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth, “Why would you want…”

“Me?” Janus finished his sentence. “And by ‘me’ I meant ‘you.’ Well, I’m sorry to say, but you’re just a bonus from today’s mission, Jean. Our real target today was _them_.”

He nodded at the corner of the room, and Jean obediently turned to peer at the dimly lit space. Ymir and Annie were both chained to the wall, either suffering from what Jean was calling the Screening Poison; or drugged up to the gills with whatever Jean was on.

Annie twitched on the floor, clearly in distress.

Annie.

Jean flinched bodily back, ice curling around his heart and squeezing. It was a visceral reaction, like a rabbit upon spotting a fox. She’d—when they’d attacked, Annie had—

And then she’d reached down and squeezed one of Janus’s Naturalists like he’d been _nothing_. Squeezed him until blood spurted out in all directions.

“Hanji and the others,” he stammered, trying to focus on something other than his heartbeat thumping in his ears. Tried to feign confidence, because genuine fear in an unknown place was never a good idea. “They’re Naturalists too. But you’re not working with them. Hanji ordered us there, but you…”

Janus snorted. “Well, not every organization is able to just hold hands and sing nice songs. But to answer your question: no, I’m not answering to Erwin anymore. That’s Hanji’s top commander, by the way.” His voice became mocking. “The Great Erwin Smith, carrying on his father’s work as the leader of the Naturalist movement.” A pause, and then he violently swept a nearby lantern onto the floor.

Jean flinched as it shattered.

“Weak! Soft! They’ve forgotten those who’ve been directly affected, those political sell-outs!” Janus growled, eyes flashing alpha red. He got up and paced the floor, shoulders hunched like a loping wolf. “If they’re not willing to draw him out with bait, than I will. It’s what I’ve been working towards, you know. To squeeze that bastard by the throat and let him feel what I’ve felt!”

Jean tested the ropes holding his wrists. Tight. His legs were bound too, and unless either Ymir or An—if Ymir and A—if _the girls_ woke up. Unless they woke up and did what they did before, he was fucked.

Actually, if they did what they did before, then he was _still_ fucked.

“Ahem,” Janus stopped his pacing. He came and sat back down with his back straight and legs in a proper kneel, the image of a perfect gentleman. “Forgive my moods, Jean. An… unfortunate side-effect. No worries, you won’t be seeing much of me once we meet the Equalizers tomorrow.”

Jean licked his lips. Tried stalling him out even more. “To give them the girls?”

“ _Girls_?” Janus cocked his head and gave him a bland smile. “You saw what they could do, Jean? Do you honestly believe they’re _human_?”

Pulling out a switchblade from his pocket, Janus stood up and strolled towards the closest captive. He approached Annie like she was any small girl chained and helpless on the floor. No fear. No hesitation. He yanked her up and made a deep, precise cut on her cheek.

She groaned in pain—heart-wrenching, but not nearly as bad as the immediate steam hissing from the wound.

“Look at that,” Janus admired as the cut healed over. Clean, smooth and just like a titan. “No wonder Greigrich wants to get his hands on these beauts.”

“A-And what?” Jean said. He squeezed his eyes shut. He could barely accept what he’d witnessed at camp, when Annie had taken one look at the men approaching and given Jean a fever-bright nod. And then she bit into her hand and—“You’re gonna keep them away out of revenge or something? Do you think he cares that much?”

“Oh no, he doesn’t,” Janus said. “No, the one he cares about is _you_. These lovely ladies are going to be traded for someone else…” He stepped back and rapped on the door on the opposite wall. Jean hadn’t even realized there was a door.“…because I always keep my promises, Jean. Unlike your father and his merry band of scientist friends.”

Jean blinked as the door swung open, and a familiar figure leaned against the doorway.

“A-August?” he tried, and refused to shrink back when the older omega strode in and looked at him with stoic calm. Given that the last time they’d seen each other face-to-face August had been raving like a lunatic—this was almost just as disturbing.

“It’s not personal, Jean,” he said, tone light. He cast a glance at the chained girls like they were cattle. “Greigrich just took someone very important away from me… and I’d sell my soul to get him back.”

“August,” Jean repeated again.

“But you understand that, don’t you?” the boy’s cracked a pained smile. It disappeared as quickly as it came, and from one blink to the next August was kneeling before him. “You have to understand, little omega, that Marco was my friend. My childhood friend, whom I brought out of Jinae to set him free. I did care for him.” He took a shuddery breath. “I know you don’t believe me. It’s fine. But I _am_ sorry for what happened. Truly.”

Jean stared at him with growing horror. “W-What?”

“Franz has the letter prepared,” August got up and addressed Janus. “He’ll have it sent via courier to Sina at first light. And he wanted me to tell you that Tchuberg's been making a racket in the dungeons... and Franz is losing his patience.”

“August!” and Jean’s horror was melting into a cold, frightened rage. “August, what do you mean?”

The omega ignored him and strolled out the door.

Jean threw his head back against the wall in frustration. Pain. Fear.

All of the above, from every side.

“Introductions are over,” Janus clapped his hands together. He stood up and gave the trembling omega a performer’s smile. “Now, it’s time for the show.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUGUGGGUSTTTT


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d never left Jinae before. Never.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marco POV chapter. Also TW: mention of some body-horror and also depictions of pain. No actual injuries are described graphically though. Things are getting harder and harder to write as the plot unfolds, but I will DO MY BEST
> 
> EDIT: okay so I realized the chapter needed another round of edits so hopefully things flow better now! I also adjusted the tree-grove scene in Chapter 2 to fit the events of this chapter better, so hopefully contuinty lines up???

16.

 

Marco swung himself off the cliff with practiced precision, the wind whipping his hair back as he approached the wagon keeping his friends hostage. Surprise would only give him a temporary advantage, which meant that Marco would have to sacrifice safety for speed if he wanted to free Eren in time.

And then the whole world _imploded._

It was like a hot white sun had just set off beside him, searing away his surprise and his mission and  _everything_. The blast flung him into a tree with a sickening crack, and then the heat of hell descended upon him.

He screamed.

It was the worst pain he’d ever felt in his life. Pain so bad he could barely wrap his mind around it, could barely register it, and it just kept _going_. It tasted like ashy death, and he couldn’t die here. Not now. It would be cruel and unfair to die just after smoothing things over with Jean; when he’d finally started to feel like he was making a difference in the right way. Dying here robbed him of that chance. It'd make his life _meaningless_.

Marco tried to take a shuddering breath and couldn’t. Panic seized him, and his next attempt lit his throat up with such agony he ended up blinking at the charred branches above instead.

For a long, hazy moment, the world hovered above him. There was no pain. There was no sensation. Just trees and hollow-sounding voices, and then suddenly someone grabbed his limbs and _moved them_.

Crippling pain whited out his vision, burned through every limb, and it was as if someone was sawing them off without mercy. He screamed until he couldn’t take it anymore, until darkness finally claimed him.

\--

He dreamed.

\--

When Marco hurried downstairs with his sister’s backpack in hand, ready to hand it off to the demanding girl standing at the door, he found his mother waiting for him in the kitchen.

It was the day before his departure from the idyllic home he'd grown up in. He'd expected this.

The day was beautiful, at least, like the universe was smiling down upon them. Light pooled from between the window blinds, spilling onto the kitchen table and lighting up his mother’s silhouette like an angel. Marco gnawed on his lip after he shooed his sister out the door and reluctantly returned to the kitchen. He sat across from her.

“Marco, are you sure you…?” she finally broke the silence, and Marco gave her a look. Despite being a passive guy at heart, he was self-aware enough to know his own stubbornness. His mother did too. She deflated. “Of course you are. Oh, Marco… have you any idea what’s waiting for you outside?”

“Have you?” Marco said in a mild tone. As if he hadn't known that she'd been born and raised in Jinae all her life, just like his father and their grandparents.

His mother chose to ignore the jab and folded her fingers together. “Marco, listen to me. We’re… safe here. The government protects us, provides for us, and prioritizes us when it comes to deciding the good of the kingdom. We’re a wall inside a wall—protected from the Titans by Wall Rose and Wall Maria, and protected from the darker side of the world by the king.”

“But that doesn’t mean bad stuff isn’t still happening,” Marco said. “Just because we don’t see it doesn’t mean there aren't people out there needing help. The _kingdom_ needs help. And if I can make a difference out there, I will.”

“Marco,” his mother reached out and clasped his hands in her own. Her voice came out cold and serious, and it sent a shiver up his spine. “In the long run, very few of us make a difference in this world. We're like dust in the wind, and it's foolish to waste your life trying to prove otherwise.”

Marco ducked his head, an angry retort burning on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to rail and rage, but that wasn't the kind of boy Marco Bodt was. He’d always been the good son, the perfect older brother, and he had years of experience burying down his frustrations. He squeezed her soft hands back with a forced smile instead.

“I choose to think we _all_ make a difference,” he said. “Call me a fool, but don't you think the world's brighter that way?"

His mother actually smiled back. “I can’t decide if I’m proud or horrified that this is how you turned out.”

“Proud,” Marco declared, puffing up his chest in exaggerated pride, “Very proud. I’m the best son you’ve ever had, Mom. Say it.”

“You’re my only son,” she laughed. She opened her arms and he fell into them, squeezing her tight around the neck. She clutched him just as tightly back. Marco hadn’t realized how small his mother was compared to him, not when she'd always seemed larger than life. His mother drew back and dabbed her wet eyes. “T-The girls will miss you, you know. Who’ll take them sky gliding on the hills now?”

“They’ll be fine,” Marco said. His mother just sniffed, and he put his hands on her shoulders. “They’ll be _fine,_ Mom. And I’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

“Oh Marco,” his mother sighed. “You have no idea at all.”

For his final night in Jinae, his mother prepared all of Marco’s favorite dishes for dinner. The girls squabbled and complained over the broiled pork—they preferred it fried, why does Marco get to decide _everything_ —until Marco put his hands on their heads and tousled their dark hair. They shrieked indignantly because his hands were _dirty_ , they were _gross_ , ugh, he was the worst brother ever!

After the brats were put to bed and his mother had gone back to the master bedroom to fervently pray to the Wall Gods, Marco found himself alone with his father. It was appropriately symmetrical: here he was in the kitchen again, pale moonlight peeking out from the window and his father tapping the kitchen table with a finger. Marco shuffled his feet. His father was a good man but not particularly talkative, and he spent a good moment just puffing on his pipe.

Finally, he sat back and emptied his pipe in the bin below the table. “You'll need to be careful out there, Marco. You can’t trust everybody.”

“I know that,” Marco couldn’t help but whine, because he wasn’t five anymore.

“You don’t,” his father countered. “Marco, Hans Linden and I talked before his and his family’s departure from Jinae. I know the kind of price the Linden's influence demands, and I worry… that you will be asked to do things you don’t want to do.” A beat. “That your conscience refuses to let you do.”

“So what?” Marco walked to the table and sat in the chair opposite his father. “I just stay in Jinae then, hiding away from making decisions for the rest of my life?”

“No,” his father said. “I’m telling to put great thought in who you decide to trust. Make your decision wisely, and know when too far is far enough.”

Marco was silent as he forced himself to calm and listen. Approach the situation with rationality. By the time he processed his father’s wisdom, the man had managed to refill his pipe. Marco stood up and kissed his dad’s temple.

“Thanks dad,” he said. “Good night.”

“Good night, Marco,” his father called out as Marco carefully crept towards his room across from his sisters. His voice sounded a tad melancholy, though both of his parents had respected Marco's decision in the end. He was fifteen-years-old and old enough to make his own decisions.

He was old enough to leave.

Deciding who to trust wasn’t a hardship at all. He’d only ever considered leaving Jinae for one reason, and he didn’t see why that reason would change.

He trusted August—and he was willing to follow him for however long he could.

\--

The wagons arrived in the morning. Marco had donned on his uniform and was waiting alongside one other cadet, a young girl with dirty blonde hair and a neckerchief. His gaze flickered down. She didn’t have a ring on her finger.

“Bodt, Weber,” a military officer dismounted from her horse and put her fist to her chest in a brief salute. The girl—last name Weber, possibly the oldest child, which made her Karla Weber from the other side of town—saluted back instantly. Marco clumsily followed suit and earned a judgmental glare from the officer. He tried not to wilt. “You’re to be moved to a military base alongside the east side of Wall Rose. You will undergo a month of acclimation before attending the normal trainee classes. Details about Jinae cannot be randomly let loose to the public. If you can’t promise your silence, then turn away now, soldiers.”

Neither Marco nor the girl moved, and the officer tilted her head in acknowledgement.

“Very well. Climb aboard,” she said. "We'll arrive by high noon."

Marco picked up his pack and cast one look back at his parents’ home. His mother and sisters waved at him. He smiled and waved back, and then stepped into the wagon. It was small and dark and not exactly the fanciest transportation he'd ever seen, and it should have eased his nerves to realize the military had the same shitty equipment. Instead, Marco felt apprehensive.

He’d never left Jinae before. _Never_. A world filled with forests and mountains and alphas and omegas—it was hard to fathom the extent Jinae had protected him. Marco wasn't a coward, but he wasn't made of stone either. He could feel a bit of healthy fear.

“Acclimation,” Weber said conversationally. “Like they think we’re going to run around like chickens with their heads cut off. We’re all people, who cares what dynamic they are.”

“You ever meet an alpha or omega?” Marco asked.

“No.”

“Then how do you know we won’t be chickens?”

“Because we’re _people_ ,” and now Weber was giving him a funny look. “We’re better than all of them; we’re not slaves to instinct. If anyone’s going to be running around like chickens, it’s them.”

“But the point is they’re used to all that, but we—woah!” Marco braced himself against the side of the wagon as it came to a sudden screeching stop. “What the…”

“The hell is wrong with you, Greigrich!” the officer stuck her head out and waved a fist. “Can’t you see we’re on a schedule?”

“Calm yourself, Blasa,” a familiar voice approached. Marco peered out of a crack between the cloth partitions along the side of the wagon, and saw the man in the green jacket puffing his pipe. Sebastian Greigrich, one of the scientists in charge of maintaining the hyacinth wall. It was downright uncanny how little the man had changed over the years. “An unexpected development occurred, but it’ll only take a few moments for it to resolve itself…”

A low guttural noise interrupted him. Marco flinched. And then he heard it again: low and pained and wretched, coming from the section Greigrich had blocked off so unapologetically.

“You knew we were collecting cadets today, you couldn’t have done your experiments some other time?” Blasa snarled back. “And what the hell did you do, soak your prisoner in—”

The guttural groan grew louder and almost monstrous, and Blasa stopped talking in favor of whipping her head towards the noise. Weber tried pulling him back, but Marco refused to simply sit there in ignorance. He edged as close to the front of the wagon as he dared, ducking his head so he could get a glimpse of what was happening.

He almost wished he hadn’t.

There, just a few stretches away past a hastily set-up fence, was a strange… thing. A flesh-colored thing twitching on the ground while it groaned and tried to move, and Marco's stomach lurched. Was that an animal? A _person_? Half of its body was distorted and bloated, and the flesh shifted nauseatingly the longer they watched. Its left arm suddenly ballooned out, and the creature let out a horrible cry of pain.

Greigrich cursed and tucked away his pipe.

“Kirstein!” he yelled over the thing’s noise. Marco wanted to crawl back into the safety of the wagon. It wasn’t just the noise and the limbs—it was the terrified look on the creature’s face as it changed. It was horrifically human.

“I already tried Formulas A and B,” Greigrich’s accomplice called out. He chucked the empty vials onto the floor and refitted a syringe with a third one. “Here goes C…”

“Herrr..." the creature moaned. Marco exchanged a terrified look with Weber, whose own wide-eyed glance confirmed that he wasn’t hearing things. “Herrrll...p...”

It tried crawling towards Blasa and the rest of their wagon, faster than possible—but Kirstein was faster. The man leapt onto its back and jabbed its nape with the syringe. It screeched and flailed as he pressed the pump down mercilessly until the vial emptied.

Steam began sloughing off of it in waves, and even Blasa looked discomfited as its cries sounded more and more hollow. It went on for a long, uncomfortable moment… and then stopped.

Marco blinked past the murky steam. There, in the road ,lay the limp form of a human man. His face was clearly the same as the distorted one from just a minute earlier, just… not distorted.

“Is it over?” Weber whispered from behind him.

The scientists were apparently wondering the same thing. Kirstein coughed and wiped his hands on his slacks. He approached the prone man without hesitation and pressed his fingers to his neck.

“Dead,” Kirstein declared with a frown, sounding mildly disappointed. He was clearly used to death, and Marco wasn't sure if that made everything better or worse. “It’s a bust, Sebastian. The form’s right, but the transformation’s too strenuous for the subject to survive. We’ll have to go back to the drawing board this time.”

"The formula wasn’t completely finished, Frederick,” Greigrich said. “This subject was accidental. You said he just… ran up to you and assaulted you?”

“A suppressant fanatic,” Kirstein sighed. “Took one of the canisters out of my van and drank it all down before I could stop him. We’ve told them all a hundred times that our work isn’t the work of god; it’s science.”

“Science couldn’t save him,” Greigrich said. He snapped his fingers, and a governmental underling who’d been watching from the sidelines came and hauled the corpse off to the side of the road. “Not this time.”

“Hey,” a voice said beside him. Marco jumped. It was the superior officer, looking a bit shaken but overall unimpressed. “Get back to your seat.”

“What… what was that?” Marco swallowed down his fear and asked, because he couldn't stand by and say nothing. Weber threw him a look like he’d lost his mind, and she probably wasn’t wrong. He felt like his entire world had shifted in just the last five minutes. “That man…”

“Nothing you need to know,” Blasa snapped. “Now _get back to your seat_.”

Marco obeyed. He crawled onto the bench and breathed through his mouth, and tried his very best not to think of the man’s pleading cries morphing into screams.

\--

“Marco!” Once he'd finished placing his bag in the bunk he'd share with Weber, he'd headed out to the front courtyard and found himself instantly assaulted. Familiar lithe arms squeezed his middle. “Damn, kid, you’ve grown quite a bit, haven’t you?”

“August,” Marco broke out into a wide smile, pulling back and looking over his old friend. The boy—young man?—looked as if he'd just stepped out of his memories. Bigger and broader, sure, but there was that same, fun-loving twinkle in his eyes. But then his nose registered a new scent, and Marco’s smile dropped in surprise. “Wait…”

“Got a good whiff, didn’t you?” August spread his arms in a faux-apologetic shrug. “Now you know why my parents wanted me to leave Jinae.”

“You’re an _omega_ ,” Marco marveled. He'd never met an omega up close before. He patted the older boy’s shoulders and chest like he could find the hidden secrets of dynamics in his pocket. August put up with his pawing for a grand total of five seconds before batting his hand away. Not one to just give up, Marco sniffed his palm. It was… different. Sweet.

“Stop that,” August batted his hand again. “Stop being weird.”

“Hey, I just came out of a beta-only village,” Marco said. He put his hand to his nose again, if only to watch August roll his eyes. “I’m like a kid in a candy store, cut me some slack.”

“You’re a weird weirdo, that’s what you are,” August said, and gestured for Marco to follow home. “Now come on, we need to introduce you to the boss. _Try_ not to look inappropriately starstruck at the next omega we see.”

"But how are _you_ an omega?” Marco followed behind, curiosity abuzz beneath his skin. “You grew up in Jinae like me…”

“The suppressant only really affects us when we’re in that in-between state,” August answered. “It hits the hardest right when the body’s deciding whether or not to go ahead with second puberty. So as long as I was away from all that, there was a good chance I’d present normally.”

“And you did,” Marco said. August led them into a small alleyway, and then turned them around a bit before the darkness spat them out the other side. Marco hesitated when August nudged him past the line making the end of military territory, but this was _August_. He’d promised to trust him, and it wasn’t like his old friend had broken him out of Jinae just to string him up by the ankles and bleed him like a pig. “Well, good. I mean, you look good, August.”

“I'm going to have to stop you right there, kid,” August laughed. He ruffled Marco’s hair, leaving him feeling affronted and endeared. He wasn't a child, but he’d also missed having someone who didn’t expect him to know everything and take everything with grace. It was freeing. “’Cause if Merten hears you talking like that, he’ll probably challenge you to a duel.”

“Merten’s here?” Marco blinked in honest surprise, because the last he'd heard of him he'd been busy shuttling shipments out of Jinae and back. And then they made it to a rickety staircase leading into the basement of some nondescript house, and he saw for himself.

Merten was indeed there, playing cards with a group of military personnel on a table illuminated by a rusty lamp. The short-haired beta grinned rakishly when he slapped down a winning hand. The soldiers moaned as he collected his haul.

“Fuck, Mer, you cost me my beer money! Have you no mercy?” a dark-skinned soldier whined.

“Shouldn’t have bet with it then, Gunther,” Merten sing-songed. “Shame on you for your irresponsible behavior! Now me and my darling here, we’re going to be set on drinks for a while, aren’t we?”

“Don’t call me darling,” August said, but went over and curled an arm around Merten anyway. As if that wasn't damning enough, he placed a small kiss on his temple.

Marco froze in the doorway. He'd assumed August had meant Merten "challenging" him as a fellow brother from Jinae, because Merten's always been a bit protective. It hadn't even occurred to him that he'd meant a different protection. They were both _boys_ , and that was...

August caught sight of him and beckoned him forward.

Marco forced himself to relax. Even if he didn’t completely understand, he couldn’t just assume every thing that offended his sensibilities were offensive in general. And this was August and Merten. If they wanted to be a couple… they could be a couple.

“Wall gods almighty, is that _Marco Bodt_?” Merten exclaimed, finally turning to see who August was looking at. The soldiers turned too, and suddenly Marco found himself under extreme scrutiny. Merten disentangled himself from August’s hold and drew Marco into a surprising hug. “Dammit all, I must be getting old, ‘cause it looks like little old Marco’s all grown up!”

“Merten,” Marco wheezed before pulling back in shock. Merten had hated his guts as a kid. Getting any form of affection from him clearly meant the world was ending. “You’re… out?”

“What, you saying you never noticed me missing around Jinae?” Merten said. Marco wasn't sure what he was getting at: after August had moved away, he hadn’t really hung out with the older kids anymore. The older man coughed. “Cool, cool, understandable I guess. Well, let’s just say I made real good friends with a trade partner of mine. She bailed me out, and of course the first thing I do? Is hunt down this beauty right here,” and he fearlessly pointed at August, who rolled his eyes. “Though he’s a lot less sweet than I remember.”

“When was August ever _sweet_ ,” Marco reflexively commented.

“Exactly!” August threw up his hands. “See, _Marco_ remembers.”

“You guys are so rude ignoring us like that,” one of the soldiers at the table interrupted. She perched on the tabletop and rested her feet on a stool. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to the new kid?”

“What’s the point?” a haughty-looking soldier muttered beside her. “We’re not going to be working with him, not if he’s joining Janus’s section.”

The other soldiers immediately groaned. “ _Janus_.”

“Hey, that’s my boss you’re dissing,” August scolded them.

“Please, if you ever worked under Erwin or Levi, you’d _know_ Janus is shit,” the haughty soldier drawled. He leveled them a cocky grin. “Now us, we get things done. We further the Naturalist cause in ways no one else can, which is why Captain Levi—“

“Knock it off, Oluo,” the girl cut him off, and the man yelped and clutched at his mouth. She looked Marco over. “If Janus needs the new recruit more, than he can take him. Even if he’s a bit…”

“Emotional? Vengeance-crazy?” Oluo mumbled past his hand. Marco hesitantly inched forward to offer him a handkerchief, and the man blinked at him before taking it and pressing it to his mouth. “A psycho lunatic Erwin should just boot off a cliff?”

“Who’s booting who off a cliff?” a voice called out from the doorway. August and Merten both froze. The soldiers looked discomfited but not quite as scared, though Marco noticed that one put a hand on the the knife buckled to his belt. “Quite aggressive wording, Mister Bozad. Now, I understand you soldiers need to… let off steam once in a while, but I thought Levi would have trained you better than this?”

“Have you even met Levi?” Oluo muttered under his breath, and then pressed Marco’s handkerchief to his mouth when their new visitor narrowed his eyes at him.

“Janus,” August addressed him. The middle-aged man went from surveying the room like some predator to attentive leader in an instant. It was disconcerting to watch. August stood ramrod straight and cleared his throat. “Let me introduce you to our newest Naturalist recruit, Marco Bodt.”

Janus turned his gaze on Marco and smiled. Marco resisted the urge to back away as he approached, even when the man just offered him a sweeping bow and extended a hand.

“A pleasure, Mister Bodt,” he said. Marco took a deep breath— _alpha_ , this man was an alpha, he’d never really interacted with an alpha before, what was he supposed to do?—and squared his shoulders. He grasped the man’s hand and shook it firmly. Janus smiled at him with all his teeth. “I’m 'Janus' Eckstein, and the head of the Naturalist division you’re joining.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Marco said. After an awkward moment, he pried his hand away and tried not to wipe it against his pants.

Janus's gaze was eerie and invasive, and Marco found his unease giving way to annoyance. It shocked him. He’d spent his entire life pushing down any unsavory emotions like it was second nature, but there was something about this man that just got under his skin.

“Hm, yes,” Janus finally clucked to himself. He circled Marco. “You’re quite adaptable, aren’t you? Yes, yes, this will work.” He leaned forward. “Now, Mister Bodt, do you like watching? Playing dress-up? Let me ask: what do you think of playing spy?”

“You get that sanctioned by Erwin?” Gunther interrupted from the table. Janus cast him an annoyed look, and the soldier put his hands up. “Hey, you know the rules. Erwin gives you a lot of freedom ‘cause of that funny head of yours, but even you need to restrain yourself.”

“Enough,” Janus snarled, hair-risingly aggressive. “Erwin’s sanctioned the operation. Need I remind you how close Kirstein and _Greigrich_ are to completing the new widespread formula. Kirstein’s boy is joining the military this year. He’s clearly the most vulnerable point we need to crack that entire operation open.”

“Oh, and what are you planning to do to that kid, Janus?” Gunther snapped. "The Naturalists aren't kidnappers or bullies.”

"Gunther, you worry too much. Marco here will mostly be observing him,” and Janus placed a cool hand on Marco’s shoulder. He flinched minutely, and then saw August shaking his head at him. Deep breaths. Calm. “You’ll keep an eye on our prize without hurting him, won’t you Mister Bodt?”

Marco said nothing. Janus’s fingers clenched his shoulder tighter, and he winced. “Y-Yes Mister Eckstein.”

“Just Janus,” the man said. “We’re on the same team, now. Now if you’ll excuse us…”

He led Marco towards the stairs, and the other Naturalist soldiers were already starting to mutter behind them:

“You really think he's going to hurt the kid?” one of them said.

“It’s _Janus_.”

“If Erwin forbade him…”

“He’s not going to listen to Erwin,” Gunther hissed. “The closer he gets to Greigrich, the less incentive he has to help. I can’t believe…”

“It’s rude to talk about someone behind their back,” Janus declared, and turned around in time to see the soldiers jump. “Now August, Merten. You will join us for some nice afternoon tea, too, yes?”

“Sure thing, boss,” Merten saluted. The joking grin from the card game had vanished, replaced with the serious expression Marco had been familiar with in their youth. When he and August passed Marco, August reached out a hand and squeezed Marco’s other shoulder.

Unlike the threatening grip of Janus’s hand on him, August’s was warm. Comforting. It reminded him of why Marco was still here, even when all his instincts urged him to flee from this strange man at once.

“Oh, we’ll have so much fun this month,” Janus said, eyes bright. “That Kirstein boy won’t know what’s hitting him once we get you ready.”

Marco didn’t say anything. He didn’t say anything the whole trip upstairs.

\--

Lunch with Janus was strange and awkward. The man kept asking him provocative questions like he was testing him, and from his pleased expression at the end Marco seemed to have passed with flying colors.

He'd disappeared as quickly as he'd appeared afterwards, and August and Merten made it up to him by showing off the area outside the compound. Marco had expected a scene similar to his childhood, where he'd been the constantly awkward third wheel tagging along the two cool boys, and was surprised to find it was _not_. Clearly, living outside the hyacinth walls of Jinae had loosened Merten up.

“So the trick is,” the man was telling him while they eyed some hot sandwiches that were just out of their budget. “The trick is to use nostalgia and familiarity. People like being nice to people they know, and if you do your research beforehand, then you can figure out a lot.”

He patted Marco’s back and strolled to the stand. “Hey, Miss Reich! I’m Merten—your son and I are on the neighborhood patrol together. Neff, right? So yeah…”

August shook his head with a soft smile.

“You’re happy here, aren’t you?” Marco said after a long moment spent observing his friend. August startled and looked down at him. “I mean, even if Janus seems a bit hard to work with...”

“You have no idea,” August sighed.

“But still, you’re happier here than in Jinae. Because you’re with Merten.”

“Don’t get all sentimental on me, Marco,” August smiled. “The good and the bad come together, you know? Working with Janus is rough, but his heart’s in the right place. He wants to do right by all the victims of the kingdom’s experiments. That’s not a bad thing. And of course Merten’s the cherry on top. He better make me happy; why else would I be dating his sorry ass?”

"True," Marco cocked his head. "He's got nothing obvious to bring to the plate, huh? No money, average looks..."

"Oi!" August nudged him with an elbow, though clearly knew he'd been teasing. "That's my man you're trash-talking!"

Marco's smile morphed into a considering frown. He hadn't wanted to bring it up, but the way August had said that reminded him... “It’s just… isn’t it hard, August?”

“Sure, people disapprove,” August shrugged. “But after drowning in suppressant and government rules for your entire life, people’s opinions don’t really matter.”

“Because you’re both boys?”

“What?”

“What?” Marco blinked, not sure why August looked so confused.

“Because we’re beta and omega,” August spelled out, and Marco flushed in embarrassment. His friend graciously allowed him his faux pas and continued, “A lot of people think omegas should only be with alphas, which is bullshit. Why do people care so much about what others do in the bedroom?”

“Oh,” Marco’s cheeks warmed. He hadn’t even considered…

August had the gall to laugh. “Oh, you poor baby! Come here, let me protect you from the big bad world.”

“Aaaau-gust,” Marco whined, but didn’t struggle when the omega drew him into a hug. He’d clearly meant it as a joke, but Marco found his calm veneer beginning to crack as he pressed up against his friend,. Everything was just so new and horrible, and he’d only left Jinae today. It’d only been _one day_.

He bit his lip and drew back.

August tilted his head, “Oh, I know that look. You’re holding something back.”

“Nothing to hold back.”

“Liar,” August nudged him with an elbow. “Something happened, didn’t it?”

Marco closed his eyes. That was a mistake, because all he could see was that man again. That awful, screaming man in the middle of the road—grotesque and in pain and Marco hadn’t been able to do anything.

Was this how Jinae really was? Not the protected utopia Marco had been raised to think it was, but some kind of experimental testing ground?

“There was a man on the road today,” he whispered, voice low. He clenched his fists. “They—Kirstein and Greigrich, they were there, they were doing some kind of test to turn him b-back to normal. But he… they said he swallowed suppressant, and it mutated him?” He opened his eyes and was mortified to find them wet. “Is that what suppressant is? Does it—mutate people?”

August’s expression sobered. As Marco scrubbed his eyes, the omega sighed and looked out at where Merten was blatantly flirting with Miss Reich. “We don’t usually cover that until later, but… yes. The suppressant’s a poison, Marco. It’s… there’s no real reason we need it, other than people trying to control fate. But fate isn’t meant to be tampered with. And there are dire consequences for those who do.”

Marco regretted giving his handkerchief to that Oluo. It was impossible to hide his dripping nose now, and so he just sniffed and tried not look five-years-old. “And the Naturalists are trying to stop it.”

“You think I’m sticking around crazy Janus because I feel obligated?” August smiled. “No. I want to make a difference, Marco. I have to think everything we do changes the world around us. If I can help…”

“…then I should do as much as I can,” Marco finished, because this was one reason he and August had been friends. They understood each other. And then Merten finally returned with three steaming hot sandwiches in hand, beaming with pride.

“Three for the price of one!” Merten gloated, handing out their lunch. “Miss Reich is _so_ funny—that woman deserves her own time on stage, I tell you... woah, what’s with the long faces?”

“Serious stuff,” August tried laughing off, and let out an “Oomph!” when Merten wrapped an arm around his shoulders and nuzzled his temple. “Hey! Knock it off, Mer, Marco’s watching.”

“C’mon, isn’t he, like, sixteen or something? He’s old enough.”

“Fifteen,” Marco corrected him. He drew his legs up to his chest and propped his head on his knees. “But if there’s going to be a lot of this in the real world, I should probably to become desensitized to it. Go on with this omega behavior, I’m curious.”

“That is _not okay_ ,” August kicked his shin as Marco blatantly stared.

“Voyeurism kink,” Merten mouthed, and cackled when August kicked his shin too. Seeing the two smiling at each other eased the iron-grip clenching Marco’s heart. It drove the grotesque victim of suppressant right out of Marco’s head, at least until they dropped him back off at the compound.

“You were gone for a while,” Karla Weber said when he returned to their cramped bunk in the far corner of the compound. She folded her arms and cocked her head at him. “Having a fancy lunch or something?”

“Met with a few friends,” Marco said, voice calmer than he felt. Away from August and Merten, he felt the low-key anxiety from before returning. “There wasn’t anything on the morning schedule, was there?”

“No, but that Blasa girl kept checking in and getting nervous that you were gone,” Weber lay down on her bunk. “You going to tell me where?”

“No.”

“How about what you ate for lunch.”

“No,” Marco turned away, and he heard Weber huff.

“And I heard you were the _nice_ one,” she muttered under her breath. After an awkward silence, she said in a quiet voice, “This morning… you've ever seen anything like that before?”

Marco squeezed his eyes shut, “Never.”

“Yeah,” she sounded vulnerable, just as bit of a kid as Marco was. “Me neither.”

A soldier soon fetched them for their first session with a successful officer from Astoria, the other test village within Wall Rose. He mostly covered what information was or wasn’t allowed to pass Jinae’s hyacinth walls.

“It’s important not to draw attention to yourselves,” he said, knocking on the chalkboard behind him. “Not the government’s, and not your peers. The government allows us to leave to serve our dues, but any overt rebellion can be grounds to send you home.”

Marco felt a chill run up his spine and resisted the urge to twist his ring. This would keep him from being sent back, didn’t it? The Naturalists couldn’t ask him to work against his country only for him to be sent back so soon.

“We’ve got hands in a lot of pockets,” August assured him when Marco snuck into the attic of their meeting house. He sat cross-legged before his older friend and shared half of a loaf of bread he'd taken from the mess hall. “Don’t worry about that.”

“I’m not _worried_.”

“You so totally _are_ worried,” August chewed on the loaf and waved the remainder about in the air. “Look, Marco, I know it’s all very heavy stuff, but you’re still allowed to have fun. Explore the world around you and all that. Leave all the messy stuff to me and the other adults.”

“You don't need to protect me, August,” Marco frowned. "I'm not a _kid_..."

“Lose your virginity first and then get back to me."

"August!" Marco yelped, and then a loud shattering sound from downstairs interrupted them. Marco jumped. August quickly leapt to his feet and went to the stairwell.

“Don’t you _dare_ suggest we can work with that monster!” Janus’s voice bellowed. Marco snuck up behind August and huffed when the young man held out an arm and stopped him from wandering downstairs. Like Marco was that stupid.

“Janus—” someone—Merten?—pled, and another crash resounded through the base. 

“Sebastian Greigrich is untrustworthy and insane,” Janus hissed. “He’s a monster that needs to be stopped, not—not negotiated with—”

“We’re not trusting him, but there’s been enough evidence that says he and Kirstein—”

“No more!” Janus stormed around the room, and then something slammed hard against the wall. August froze. That pained groan was definitely Merten. “No more, no more! That man needs to pay for what he did to _me_ and my _family_ , for everything he’d done to Waldniel and the people who lived there!”

“Mer,” August whispered, and rushed down the stairs before Marco could stop him. He crept down after him and hovered by the open doorway as he took in the scene before him. August crouched in front of an injured Merten while Janus paced around the room, a different creature entirely from the one he’d shared tea with that first day.

“Stand aside, August,” Janus snarled, looming over him.

“What the fuck is _wrong_ with you,” August shot back, baring his teeth. His eyes glittered gold in the dim lantern light. “We’re all on the same side here!”

“He’s spreading lies—”

“He’s delivering a message from Erwin,” August shot back. “ _Erwin Smith_ , the leader of the Naturalists!”

Janus thrummed with anger. He growled and hissed to himself and paced the floor, over and over, as August clutched a wincing Merten to his chest.

“Tell Erwin _no_ ,” he finally grit out. He squatted before Merten, who was now rubbing his jaw. “We’re not going to be cowards, and we’re not going to back down. You got that, hm? Merten, my dear boy? Come on, that's barely a scratch.”

Merten grimaced. “Y-Yeah, sure thing boss.”

“Excellent!” Janus suddenly perked up, the perfect image of a bright-eyed scientist. The transition unsettled Marco, so much so he edged back onto the stairs and away from sight. “Now that that’s settled, how about we go through a few strategems? Franz, fetch my notepad.”

“He’s crazy,” Marco hissed after August had dragged Merten upstairs and began fussing over the bruises on his neck and jaw. “He’s _crazy_ , why do we even listen to him?”

August's mouth became a tight line. “He was a brilliant scientist once, Marco, and he still has enough… lucid moments to help the Naturalists with their cure. We need an antidote to the suppressant's poison."

“But if he’s so brilliant, why’s he like this now?” Marco chose to ignore the antidote tidbit in favor of wrapping his head around the man he was to be assisting. “Is he sick, or…?”

“He was poisoned,” August said flatly, “by Sebastian Greigrich. I don’t blame him for not wanting anything to do with that bastard, but if there’s a chance he could help…”

“Hey, hey, no talking serious stuff with the new kid,” Merten overrode him, nudging August with an elbow. He cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders, and then gave Marco a cool, steadfast look in complete contrast to August’s somber one. “Look, there’s a lot of bad blood between us and the Equalizers, but you gotta remember one thing, Marco. We’re here to help everyone, not go on some personal vengeance quest. We’re here to _stop suppressants_.”

August frowned and turned his head away.

“C’mon, August,” Merten put his head on his shoulder in a bid to lighten the mood. “Let’s not end this night on a bad note, huh? How about we show Marco the singing competitions in Furlough Alley?”

It was a strange reversal of their youthful hangouts, with Merten and not August nudging them all along. He even attempted to include Marco in every activity while staving off August’s dark mood.

It didn't work.

“Don’t worry,” he heard Merten whisper in the omega’s ear when he thought Marco wasn’t listening. “I won’t leave you alone with Janus, I promise.”

“You better not,” August said. He turned and looked at his lover with clear, serious eyes. “Or I’ll probably end up killing him myself.”

Merten laughed. Marco wasn’t sure why.

The way August held himself, the way he looked; he could see his friend was deadly serious, and it scared him.

\--

By the time Marco had finally taken his place in the sea of trainees saluting their new commanding officer, he was ready. Weber had been shuffled off to the West Training Camp, where Marco would have also ended up if his“military connections” didn’t rearrange things so he ended up in the same class as his target: Jean Kirstein.

Fifteen, loyalty questionable, and young enough to be manipulated. It turned Marco’s stomach to think of it that way. He didn’t want to _manipulate_ anyone; Janus had just asked him to watch over him. So that’s what he was going to do.

That’s what he was ready to do.

Until the trainee before him opened his mouth and introduced himself as Jean Kirstein, and Marco found himself staring his future treachery in the flesh.

 _I worry… that you will be asked to do things you don’t want to do,_ his father’s words crossed his mind. Jean was right here. He was real and breathing and young, yes, as curious and eager to please as Marco himself. Guilt flooded him.

But then Marco remembered the screeching man on the road and forced himself to focus. This was an underground war, and Marco couldn’t let everyone down over his own childish apprehensions. August and Janus and Merten and the rest of the team were depending on him to keep a close watch on this boy. He was _ready_.

\--

And then he realized how much he liked Jean.

It wasn’t instant and it wasn’t easy, given the boy’s prickly nature and blustering overconfidence; but lying in the cot beside him one night, Marco realized _he liked him_. As a person. He liked Jean’s honesty. He liked Jean’s dry sense of humor, the fierce way he cared about things, and his surprising patience when the need arose.

He liked how Jean smelled: a undecipherable most of the time, but sometimes he caught a whiff of something rich and sweet like freshly brewed coffee. He liked how Jean slept, the tension around his eyes fading away so he looked his age. Young and tall and fine-featured, and he looked nothing like the Frederick Kirstein Marco had known.

And sometimes, when he softened enough to throw Marco a real smile and not a smirk, Marco felt his heart stop.

He liked that the most.

“Okay, so I know you love doing weird things for weird reasons,” Jean sighed after spitting into the sink. “But can you stop staring at me like that while I brush my teeth?”

“But I want to,” Marco leaned against the wall beside him.

“What, did you not have toothbrushes in weird hillbilly land?” Jean snarked, rinsing and gargling. He spat again and wiped his face with a hand cloth. “Because let me tell you, I’m _not_ sleeping next to your rank breath in my face all night.”

“Let me use your toothbrush, then.”

“What? No, get your own!”

“But Jean,” and Marco made sure to widen his eyes as big and innocent as they could go, “us hillbillies ain’t got these fancy teeth-combs or whatever you call ‘em. Y’don’t want me to catch the rank, do ya?”

“Okay, no,” Jean shuddered, but handed his toothbrush over. “Don’t ever talk like that again. It’s creepy.”

“Hmm,” Marco said, and unabashedly began brushing his teeth with the borrowed toothbrush. Because this kind of inexplicable urge was getting more and more frequent, and he couldn't stop himself. He'd be compelled to do some bizarre thing, and he'd do it. Usually with Jean in the room. It was probably telling that he found using Jean’s toothbrush comforting rather than disgusting; and that he found Jean’s overall blasé attitude towards it even more heartwarming.

“Up to your standards, your highness?” he blew into Jean’s face after he finished rinsing, and Jean growled and pushed his cheek away with a hand.

“Gross, how do people think you’re a prince,” the boy complained. “You’re a creepy, invasive _weirdo_.”

“Thank you,” Marco grinned, and couldn’t help but laugh when an embarrassed Jean just punched him in the arm and fled.

He might have liked Jean, but he knew better than to think it could ever lead to anything. He'd accepted that. And then came Mylius, who threw a whole other wrench into Marco’s plans.

“How the hell do you even stand that loser?” Mylius sighed after unsuccessfully trying to convince Marco to make out with him in the back of the library. Marco, who liked Mylius enough as a friend but always felt a bit uneasy around him as a lover, just huffed and adjusted his collar. “I mean, he’s so—so _arrogant_ , it drives me up the wall. Like who does he think he is?”

“Jean’s my friend, Mylius,” Marco said, voice coming out far colder than he’d intended. It wasn't the first time Mylius had bitched about Jean, but something about today made it less tolerable than usual. “And he’s a good person, and smarter than you think.”

“There you are defending him again,” Mylius rolled his eyes, too annoyed to catch Marco’s tone. “What, you think hanging out with him’s gonna pay off one day? Let me tell you, he’s probably never going to put out no matter how nice…”

He squawked when Marco suddenly slammed him against the wall. He tried prying Marco’s hand away from his collar and looked surprised when he found himself unable to.

“Enough,” Marco breathed. Mylius looked at him like he’d never seen him before. It was strange how many people forgot how highly Marco ranked amongst their classmates, especially because he wasn’t _small_. “Don’t talk about Jean like that. He deserves respect as much as anyone else, as does anyone else you take to bed.”

Mylius wheezed when Marco dropped him. He rubbed his collar and ducked his head in ruffled embarrassment; and for the first time since they started this whole mess, that uneasy-angry feeling inside Marco’s gut was _gone_.

“Which isn't me anymore, My,” Marco said. “I’m done.”

Mylius snorted incredulously, “Seriously, because of _Jean_?”

“Of course,” Marco said. Mylius flinched when he walked forward, and only seemed to relax minutely when Marco placed a hand on his shoulders. “Look, we work better as friends. You know that. And My… just confess to Nack already, it’s getting awkward to watch.”

Mylius flushed and batted his hand away. “Y-You’re one to talk! You going to ask Jean out anytime soon?”

Marco didn’t say anything He just walked away and tried not to clench his fists, because a single tell could give him away. Because the answer to that question was yes, he wanted to. He wanted to but he couldn’t, because Jean was his _target_.

Jean was meant to be a bargaining chip if need be, and Marco couldn’t forget that. He couldn’t.

\--

And then his world fell apart for a second time, and Marco... Marco didn't know who to trust anymore.

\--

Marco woke up and immediately wished he hadn’t.

The pain was bad. Very, very bad, enough that he felt his vision blur for a scary second before his brain begrudgingly decided to stay conscious. He tried to breathe and panicked when it felt… off.

“We had to put a breathing tube through your throat,” the familiar voice of Corporal Hanji floated above him. “So yeah, the air’s not going through your mouth. I think it’s burned on the inside, by the way. I’m not going to ask how you’re feeling, you probably feel like shit.”

Marco tried to talk and immediately discovered that yes, the insides of his mouth were burnt, that it hurt to talk, and he indeed felt like a freshly dumped pile of horse shit. Hanji fiddled with something above him and adjusted a painful object in his throat.

The breathing tube, Marco remembered, and actively fought the urge to hurl. Who the hell knows what would happen then.

“Our backup arrived and hauled us all back hours after Eren brought you here. Though these orderlies clearly don’t know what the hell they’re doing,” Hanji tore at tubes or wires or something like that in frustration. “They kept you stable enough for me to take a look at you, but come on. Harold gets the axe and they’re like chickens running about with their heads cut off.”

Marco opened his mouth. Winced. He lifted his right hand instead, the one that he could still feel. Hanji caught on quick and put her wrist within touching distance.

_H…A…R…O…_

“They found his body,” Hanji said before he could finish spelling. “Stabbed to death, which makes me think it was Annie. She came to me covered in blood just to tell us they were moving the boys tonight. If she hadn’t escaped…”

Annie. That reminded Marco of Jean, who’d gone to the instructor’s cabin to protect the girls. He moved his hand again, and Hanji obediently put her wrist back.

_J…E…A…N…_

The woman's expression froze. Marco stared at her long and hard, and then swallowed the fear in his gut.

_J…E…A…N…_

He wrote his name again, more forcefully this time, and Hanji just shook her head. She rolled down her sleeve and went back to fiddling with the tubes, and Marco wanted to get up and scream.

Before he could do anything he’d regret, Hanji regained her composure and leaned back in her chair.

“We saved Reiner, Bertholdt and Eren,” she said quietly. “I’ve been working with the crew to synthesize an antidote to whatever’s messing with their bodies. Their condition’s improved, but it’s not where we needed it to be.”

Marco hoped his eyes were conveying the _Get on with it_ screaming in his head.

“We saved the boys,” she said, “but not the girls. Marco, they took them. They took the girls, and they took—they took Jean, but I swear…”

Marco’s chest heaved. No. _No_. He lifted his leg and almost fainted from the pain, but he didn’t care.

Hanji put a firm hand on his stomach. “…I swear, Marco, we’ll get him back.”

Marco panted for a long moment before twitching his hand again. Looking wary but defeated, Hanji let him write on her wrist.

_W…H…O…_

“Janus,” Hanji said immediately. She bared her teeth. “It’s _Janus,_ he’s finally gone rogue, that bastard.”

Marco wanted to _scream_. Between Janus and Greigrich, for once Marco would have preferred Greigrich. The man held some sort of affection towards Jean, given that he’d helped him a few times; Janus, on the other hand, hated Jean for the same exact reason. Janus could kill Jean right now while Marco lay uselessly in a hospital bed.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t even breathe without some tube stuck into his throat, and if that wasn’t mortifying on so many levels. Tears rose to his eyes but he refused to let them fall. There wasn’t a point.

It had already happened.

Marco could only work with what he’s got—and what he’s got right now wasn’t much.

Thankfully, he knew someone else who had more. He began writing on Hanji’s wrist again.

_A…R…M…I…N…_

“Armin? Armin Arlet?” Hanji looked confused. “He visited you a few times. I know he’s a friend of yours.”

Marco shook his head minutely.

_B…R…I…N…_

“Bring Armin here?” Hanji asked. Marco nodded. He glared when she shook her head. “Marco, no, you need to rest. You’re pushing yourself too much as it is…”

Marco tried writing on her wrist again, but she drew back. “ _Rest_. You’ve sacrificed enough for the mission today; I’ll have Armin visit the next time you wake up, okay?”

Not okay. Jean was out there in the hands of some unstable madman, and Marco couldn’t do anything about it.

Lying in bed with nothing but the ceiling above him to keep him company, Marco wondered if this was how August had felt in the coal mine when Merten had been taken away from him. Helpless. Useless. Despairing.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

In a fit of macabre curiosity, he wondered where his friend was now.

\--

“The bomb we planted on that wagon,” August Linden said quietly as he watched Janus and Franz piece together lab equipment on a rickety table. He’d been banned from assisting after the fourth flask he’d accidentally shattered against the tabletop. “We could have lost the other targets in the blast.”

“We don’t need _all_ the targets,” Franz said tonelessly. He nodded at Janus and drew a box out from under the table. He opened it and revealed several small vials. “We just need a few. Enough to draw Greigrich out, and enough to rescue your precious Merten.”

“Merten is a valuable members of the Naturalists,” August bristled. “He’s not some _useless_ bargaining chip…”

“He got himself captured,” Franz said unrepentantly. “He deserves whatever he gets. Just as your other boy did.”

August stepped back like he’d been slapped.

“Boys, boys,” Janus interrupted them in a mild tone before tensions could skyrocket. He carefully uncapped the vials from the box and emptied them into a flask before him. “This is a delicate operation. One wrong move, and who knows? We’ll be smoke and mirrors before we can even blink!”

“Sure boss,” Franz rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say.”

“And my darling August,” Janus said. He wrapped an arm around the omega’s waist, and August glared at him. “You ready to be a star?”

“Don’t touch me,” August wriggled away. “Just—get your formula over with, and we can start moving the prisoners. _Please_ try not to lose it in the middle of your ‘delicate operation.’”

“You always play so hard-to-get,” Janus sighed. “I don’t blame you. My daughter had been the same way, you know.” And on that creepy note, he turned back to his experiments.

August escaped into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. He turned on the sink faucet and splashed his face with water. Then, almost hesitantly, he stared up at his dripping face in the mirror. Dirty blonde hair and deep-blue eyes, familiar features on a man who he sometimes didn’t recognize. His expression crumpled, and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

It wasn’t his fault. But it was. But it _wasn’t_ , August couldn’t blame himself for every mistake someone he cared about made, and he couldn’t have stopped the way things played out. Anger frosted over his heart, just as it'd done the last few weeks.

Except he _could_ have stopped it. He’d known Marco had started having doubts after that fiasco in Karanese; he’d known it was a possibility that he had switched sides over Jean fucking Kirstein. He just hadn’t believed it.

August snarled at the mirror, because Merten couldn't afford him to be weak. He had to hold his head high, because no one else cared to rescue him from imprisonment.

And Marco, that goddammit _stupid_ brat. That self-sacrificing, morally good _asshole_ , he shouldn’t have even been near that wagon to begin with. They’d planned to take Hanji Zoe out before the rest of Erwin’s squad arrived, but instead of catching the good Corporal in the middle of the blast, it had been—

It had been—

He splashed his face with water again. He tried calming himself with deep breaths but began coughing instead. He stumbled back until he hit the opposing wall, and then he slid down to the floor.

 _We’re here to help everyone, not go on some personal vengeance quest,_ Merten had said once. August’s lip trembled. He wanted Merten desperately, needed the man by his side, but what would Mer think when he found out what he’d done?

Marco had been like his little brother, and August had let him _die_.

He'd let him die, and if August thought about it for too long, the guilt was going to tear him apart.

  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alsdkfslkdaf

**Author's Note:**

> Comments welcome!


End file.
